Just call my name, you'll be ok</style>

It was becoming routine for the buckskin to roam the Threshold, looking for the sense of purpose that had abandoned him soon after his exile from the Throat. It was his own doing, for no one had forced him to follow Leander, but he found himself bitterly blaming the idiot mare who claimed to be Sultana. If Kri had been able to rein in her temper, none of this would have happened. Black-rimmed ears pin back irritably, and a snort escapes into the relative quiet of the forest. It is hardly silent, of course, with birds and animals going about their lives, but the heat of Tallsun has driven them into lethargy, waiting in the shade for a cool breeze to pass through. The warmth doesn't much bother Lynx, having resided in the desert, and it actually soothes the pain of his impaled face, the flesh around the black spear relaxing slightly.

Idly, he wonders what has become of Leander. The golden pegasus had disappeared soon after their exodus, vanishing without a trace. So had the mare who had accompanied them, though Lynx felt less concern over the loss of a stranger. But Leander was supposed to be their leader, the one they could confidently follow into the unknown with the assurance that they would make it through their trials. He was gone though, leaving Lynx to find his own way in the world. He wasn't helpless, of course, having lived on his own before, but he felt useless just wandering around, without cause or purpose to serve. He was a soldier, not a nomad.

At least he could still walk the familiar forest, finding the lost and guiding them to wherever it was they might wish to go. A small comfort, but it still gave him something to do, and so Lynx threw himself into the task, searching every day for those who might have need of him. Mostly he found foals, lost or abandoned, and he took them in without question, without hesitation. Maybe, if he cared for enough of them, he could regain meaning. Be somebody. At the very least, he would make an impression with them, the deformed stranger who guided them to safety. For now, it would have to be enough.

His musings are interrupted by a scent he recognizes, snapping his head up in shock. Though he had seen and heard nothing of the snow-colored filly, he had assumed she was still safe in the Throat, surrounded by warriors who would give their lives to defend those in their care. What was she doing out here, and why didn't the arid scent of sand and heat mingle with her own? Intrigued and concerned, he launches into a trot, long strides eating up the ground. It is worth the discomfort, for the jarring pace sends slivers of pain through his skull, radiating from the hooked horn. The thought of Nefertari drives him on though, distracts him from the feeling.

He finds her, curled in a thicket like a fawn, though much more noticeable, and slows to a stop. Will she remember him? They had only met once, a long time ago, and so there is no guarantee that she will recognize who he is. So he stands where he is, instead of stepping forward and greeting her the way he wishes to. Best to let the girl make the first move. Still, he gives her a faint smile and nod, unable to contain himself completely.