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07-18-2012, 10:08 AM
CYSARO
His wanderings have brought him to this place of surprising beauty. He had spotted it from above, a scrawny scarred crow riding the hot wind. Attracted by the red stones, he has landed.
And now he realizes that he has arrived in the territory of a herd - a fairly large and well established one, from the smell of it. He stands stock still, muscles tense, flaring his nostrils to draw in the scent of the strangers. "Bugger." he mutters. He had hoped to be alone. Always alone. He is done with others. Though sometimes, he does dream of finding new brothers...soldiers, like him. He is most comfortable around others of his disposition: no nonsense, brave, full of grit and buried pain. The sight of mares reminds him of his lost love, foals of his murdered son. If he sees either of those, he will probably just take to the wing and fly away, another unknown soldier.
