Cysaro seems amiable enough and to this Jaydan nods, appreciative of a sensible head. There are a lot of youngsters in this herd, most still fresh to whatever their skill set be, warrior or not, and many of them had greater mouths than sense. He supposed not many lived to an experienced age in these late times though. War seemed on the horizon no matter where he looked.

The stallion responds in an expected way and it touches a brief smile on Jaydan's maw to see it. Of course warriors always have an ounce of pride to them... fighting was often about that arrogance and intimidation as often as not. Again Jaydan nods, having guessed the answer already from the scars on the other's hide, although there are many ways to attain scars aside from battle.

"True for all, me think," he murmured in reply to the very open and honest comment Cysaro gave on making some battles from a foolish place. Jaydan had never had a leadership position in that sense, but he'd certainly been grim about some fights, knowing or feeling they were made poorly. He appreciated the stranger's willingness to talk. It makes it easy to believe there is little to be hidden then.

Cysaro urges him to share as well and Jaydan glances away meekly for a while. Luin's pale and ashen face flashes behind his eyes for a moment, torturing him with her death and the oppressive grief that still clings to him because of it. His village burns time and time again in his sleep and the screams of his comrades are on every sigh of the wind. Any sane stallion would have picked up a different career option after all of that, but Jaydan laughs weakly inside himself, he is but a gelding so perhaps he is too damn honor-bound to make the switch. That and he knows nothing else. Fighting gives him a sense of purpose, even if part of him recoils from it now.

"Far from here," he begins. Surely Cysaro can tell Jaydan is not much one to hold lengthy conversation. Perhaps if they both had fluent tongues he would be more willing to chat like a mare, but even then he supposed his memories would cut him short. There were other battles of course. Battles that ended in victory and Luin being alive, battles that were easy or light-hearted, but all he saw these days was that one battle, and that was enough. "I flew with girl," he smiled, thinking of her as she was, as they had been, "and many more wings. We kept the forest, we kept it well." He grinned, his own warrior's pride showing through despite himself. "Was young then, still," he reasoned, although a fair suns older than many of the wings here, "but was strong, fast like wind, willing like summer ripe mare. She and me, we flew many suns - the forest we kept yes, but trolls and bats come always. We fight well, the trees want us win." He shuddered to think what the monsters had done to the lovely forest. They did not respect it like his kind and the elves did.

"One moon," here his voice softened, all the pride gone of it like water run off your back. His eyes became dull with a distant pain as though he did not see Cysaro, but images of what he spoke of beyond him. Jaydan nearly moaned with the memories of that dreadful night. "They come. So many, more than we think. We fight and win, but only one side of an ugly face. Happy, we fly back to sing tale, to find flame and black wind that chokes mouth. Still we fight then, but all lost, all gone." Jaydan turned his head away, spinning on a dangerous edge of rage and sorrow. The trolls had managed an alliance, and they had struck in a clever way that was unlike them. Yet Jaydan knew too, that they had been foolish to underestimate them. So many small battles had been won, they had begun to think themselves superior to the stupid, sloppy trolls. It had been a trick all along...