Hector

The day was young and the air was crisp. Hector was carrying on with his duties, happy to have something to do instead of sitting idle in his home, awaiting Kri's next instruction of the General Tournament. He smiled as the image of Gaucho entered his mind, he hoped that if he did not gain the title, that the caveman did instead. Never before had the hybrid been in such an intense fight, even taking on Kri was not as wild as that fight had been. Hector would remember it forever and would take on board everything he had learnt that day to make himself into a better warrior. Scars littered his body and the orange stud could still feel some of the bruises that the bay had inflicted upon him. A shoulder sporting a rather angry gash and his chest still stung if he sneezed or coughed. Battle wounds. Fitting for one who sought the rank of General.

Lowering himself to the ground, Hector landed soundly on the frosty floor of the Threshold, Veci floating down beside him and the pair began to stroll through the slowly awakening woodland. Scents surrounding him, old and new, unicorns from the north and horses from the west. Outcasts and herd mates alike. Each presence lingered for a while, but all were to be ignored apart from the newer scent, one he had not smelt before. The closer he got to the border between Helovia and the unknown lands, the form of a pegasus began to take shape and Hector smiled jovially at his luck. Picking his pace up to a swift bouncy trot until finally he was in talking range of the fading strawberry stallion, lighting coming to a halt and proffering his head politely.

"Hello Sir. May I be of use? My name is Hector and I come from the Dragons Throat herd" he said quite proudly, unaware that this pegasus had been here before and been apart of his very herd before the orange boy had even joined. Blissfully ignorant, he gazed over the male who was not much older than himself, noting the exotic features that titled him an Arabian. Like Daenerys had been. His heart tugged at her image, a perfect blend of snow and aureate, with eyes like fields of thistles. In a night she had stolen his naive young heart and he had missed her everyday after, still unknowing to the two children she had bore with his name as sire. For now, he gazed politely at the stranger before him, trying not to think of beautiful pearly mane and the lapping of the gentle sea.