The rustle of hooves beating down on grass warned Ricochet of another animal present- if he had been listening for possible signs of danger instead of being caught up in listening to the sounds of the river. As a matter of speaking, the stranger caught him with his gun unloaded.

Mornin'.

The Incendiary jerked his head back from the water, sending a fine arc of glistening droplets spinning from his soaked muzzle, teal eyes sharp as daggers, burned face contorting into a snarl before relaxing in wary recognition.

It was only a horse, a stallion a couple of hands taller than himself, with seafoam green eyes. He was slim, the sort of slim reminiscent of a dagger- sharp points and dangerous beauty. More interesting than the stranger's burnished oak-colored body or handsome face was his mane, tumbling and black and curly, extending down the length of his spine. At first glance, Ricochet almost took him for some sort of male hooker. It was then he noticed the scars. On the unscarred half of his face, Ricochet's lips curled into a grimace.

Scars. Each a trophy of battles fought, some lost and some won, but you never came out of a battle without gaining a scar or three. Judging from those scars, this stallion had fought in too many battles to count before.

But then, Ricochet was not without his scars- and they too were countless. There had been the time he had trained with Crane, to arise victorious, the day he had fought and snarled and snapped with Soleil the unjust, when he had fought his own father and won... and he had lost battles too, to Smoke the Gossamer and her wicked blue dragon. More times, more recent, when he had skirmished and attacked and bit and kicked his own daughter, beaten all the mare out of her until she was more stallion, but never was Colt the son he had wanted.

And he never let her forget that.

"Morning," Ricochet greeted the bay, neck stiff. He almost tilted his head in greeting before cutting off the movement abruptly- he was the Incendiary, and he didn't bow his head to anyone, no matter their breed or their ranking. "What brings you around to these parts?" The buttermilk boy continues on, cordially enough, but his eyes are sharp. He very rarely found outcasts, at least of the equine race, now- most often he collected friends from the gateway to Helovia, scouted out his followers from herds and ragtag outcast bands.

Away from the stallion his gaze drifts, downstream to where Guns scavenges. When he flares his nostrils, the salted tang of blood and rich stench of decay lingers in the air, almost overpowered by the cloying sweetness of flowers that make his jaw ache to eat. If he were to call now, Guns would come loping back, leaving his carcass to rot and fester.

But he doesn't need Guns yet. They are just two strangers- scarred and bruised, but if they talk friendly and smile hopefully Ricochet can convince this stallion of killing and eradicating the unnatural, to remove the unicorns and pegasi just like a gardener removing all the sprouting weeds.

It's good that he's back now. In his absence, the unnatural and hideous monsters have flourished- the horned and the winged. Ricochet will make Helovia wholesome once again by removing the wrong. All the murdering will be so that his kind may flourish in Nieque's name and they will become strong once more, instead of being overpowered by followers of Sepagus and Cinnoru. Those of other races that remain can be hunted down for sport and tidily removed until none remain to taint the land of the sun.

But before his plots and plans, Ricochet will need to convince this stallion of his cause.

"I am Ricochet the Incendiary, and the dog down there is my pet- I call him Guns." The Incendiary tries a smile on for size, letting it sit stupidly on his face until it slips slickly off. Smiles just don't work for him, not today and not for a long time- maybe it would be best to stick with minimum facial movements and let his eyes show his conviction in the cause of the Equine Empire.

And fuck it, he had to come up with some better lines than 'what brings you around to these parts?'