The young filly’s response – and her impromptu nickname for him – pulled a low rumbling chuckle from his lips. It was not the first time he had been given such titles, though for once it was refreshing to not be looked upon by youngsters with a reverence born from fear. Most took one look at the scars, the blind eye, and shied. But not her. And that silently buoyed him – perhaps she was not as nervous and scared as he initially thought. He hummed in thought at the mention of dogs, thinking it strange that they would target the adults rather than the youngster but dismissing it. He wouldn’t be the one to guess circumstance, that was just rude. His curiosity sated, he let his attention drift back to the conversation at hand. That of homelands and herds and this strange land in which he had decided to stop in – at least for a while. While two representatives had appeared to greet him, something made him doubt there was only those two herds. There was more than just the smells of the Basin and the Foothills on the wind and if he had to guess it was just as large as his homeland – though he doubted that a good chunk of it was a literal no-mans-land where folk feared to tred.

He listened thoughtfully as Ciceron spoke, vouching for his homeland and what sounded like their leader’s peace faring ways. It was an interesting prospect, and a tempting one. Oh to get away from fighting and conflict, was such a thing fanciful? Could a creature born for war ever truly escape that fate, or would he eventually be pulled back into the ring. Skill had kept him alive in the past, but age was against him now and he wouldn’t blame anyone who betted against him. To fight now would probably mean his death – either on the field of battle or of his injuries. Idly, he leaned from one side to the other, shifting his weight to distribute it more evenly over creaking joints and tired muscles while moving his attention to the mare. Indeed, he was struck by her honesty. She freely admitted the fact that the Basin held, at it’s core, the threads of tension wound tight when he was expecting an avoidance – after all, honesty was not always the best policy. But such machinations was for diplomats and leaders, his own persuasion was always at the blunt end of a hammer and so he found a deep respect for her truth. He nodded once and said, “I thank you, few would be so willing to admit such.”

But it did colour his views on her homeland and he had to weigh his wants and needs over preference. The Basin sounded glorious, but the sword of Damocles hanging by a thread was enough to cause him to step back and take a moment while the filly spoke. Once all had fallen silent, he cleared his throat and nodded, mostly to himself. “My apologies Lena, but I fear the undercurrent of instability within your Basin leans against it’s appeal. Ciceron,” he tilted his head so that his single working eye fell completely on the stallion, “I will follow you.” Finally, he turned to the filly who had so confidently proclaimed she wished no part of herd life. “Young Cypress, I hope you find your way. Stay safe, and should you need it, you may call upon whatever aid I may be able to give.”


[ooc: i suck, sorry for the wait]