Unicorn | Stallion | Ten | 14.0 hands

It had been a mistake going back to Isilme, but there had been a driving force behind Ned leaving Helovia's safety and charging back into the embrace of a war torn land. It was that colt, Jackal, Silverline's colt, that had been the driving force. Having to admit to the colt that he hadn't known if his parents had made it out of Isilme had nearly broken him. The look on the child's face upon hearing that there was no news of his parents survival or death had haunted Ned. It drove him to search for answers.

In the end all he was met with were bloated, rotting corpses and hoards of shades waiting for fresh meat. He didn't remember how he had gotten past them in the gateway, but he made it all the way to the Tides where he searched for Silverline and Aerwen. The sheer amount of bodies should have stunned him, but he was a veteran of war. He had seen similar in Vanthra and he had killed in far more gruesome ways than the shades had. He never did find Silverline or Aerwen's bodies. There was no trace of their deaths, but neither was there trace of the pair's survival. The shades forced Ned out of Isilme once more, their razor sharp bodies adding to the multitude of cuts and scars that already adorned his body.

Now he stood in Helovia's Threshold, his white coat caked with blood from the many cuts the shades had left him with. His left shoulder ached and throbbed with overuse. It had been many years since it had been sliced open, the muscle parting nearly to the bone. It had healed, but not properly and while it usually did not bother him it did now. He knew it was because of the running he'd done in Isilme to stay ahead of the shades and the running he'd done to escape. It left him weary, but he never had been one to give in to weariness or aches and pains.

There was a limp to his walk, but Ned pressed on, leaving Isilme along with Sliverline and Aerwen's fates behind him. He had no answers for the colt once again, but it was something they would both have to live with.

Horses: colourize-stock | Breathless-dkBackground: resuregesky: em4nu@flickr.comManip: AquiloniusLupus

R I C C I A R D O
The Sandman.

Another way of feeling more accepted into the Edge herd was of course, to become part of an active soul-searcher. Having already crossed through the Threshold, the flame-kissed brute had some knowledge of the place already. The moss and olive colours of the frondescence and herbage was strikingly beautiful, but the heat of the Tallsun had taken its toll. The entire place was choking with thirst.

With a lighter crown and a fairly content feeling with himself, Ricciardo knew from instinct that he was in a better frame of mind and this would certainly help if he came across any strangers. The intelligent mind of the burly brute calculated what he thought was acceptable to bring back to herd. And right in front of him stood one of the many that were exactly what he was looking for.

A horned alabaster sir. He had orbs of charcoal, a horn that looked menacing without the need for its tip to be pierced into the flesh. His pelt was covered in scars with blood oozing. He wondered what exactly had happened to this brute. Concern spread across his orbs, he paced cautiously forward until he was close enough to speak with the stranger.
Goodness me, what happened?" It was the first thing that, stupidly, passed through his velveteens. Before making himself seem anymore rude, he politely added onto this, with a formal and friendly enough tone, Where are my manners...? I am Ricciardo, a Sandman. I am from the World's Edge herd. If you are looking for a place to be I would gladly take you to be approved by one of the higher ranks?We are always looking for horned equines." He dipped his crown respectfully, still eyeing the scars and questioning the past of the brute. He waited for a reply, not expecting any good one since he had never done such a thing before. The flame-kissed beast did not even know if it was a good idea to do to such a thing, perhaps he should have let Mauja or one of the higher ranking herd members do this...

Unicorn | Stallion | Ten | 14.0 hands

Ned lifted his head and turned his charcoal gaze on the red stallion that had approached him and asked what had happened. Was he blind? With the cuts and scars that littered his body it was obvious that he had been fighting. His thick tail slapped against his flanks as his limping gait halted. His ears tilted toward the stallion and he snorted quietly, but before he could speak the red one was speaking again.

"Ned." He said, his voice cracking from disuse. The little white stallion cleared his throat before speaking again. "Ye be lookin' fer horned equines." He stated. "Why not winged or just plain equines?" Again, his tail slapped against his flanks, but he was still otherwise, his dark gaze studying the red beast.

"I be returnin' from a land reeling with the effects of a race war." He informed Ricciardo. "I be havin' no interest in a herd that only be allowin' unicorns." Ned already assumed that the red one would claim there was no racism. He might be right, but even if there was no racism there was elitism and he wanted no part of it.

Horses: colourize-stock | Breathless-dkBackground: resuregesky: em4nu@flickr.comManip: AquiloniusLupus

R I C C I A R D O
The Sandman.

The rashness from the wounded brute was of one that seemed to be scarred with the devastation of war, this was something that Ricciardo himself understood. He caught a glimpse of his tail whistling through the slight breeze as it wrapped around his alabaster rump. The wound that seeped with blood stood out like an eyesore, and a painful one at that. A small sense of pity overcame the soul inside the flame-kissed mass, it was apparent to his own mind but he made sure that he would not emit this feeling out to the stranger. Weakness was in emotion, but it was not for the sake of himself this time that he kept it to himself. The brute imagined how difficult it must be for what he guessed to be a warrior as the newcomer that stood be shown pity. It was almost like he'd be judged for it and Ricciardo knew that he himself would not wish to be shown any concern from strangers. It was improper, and made him feel weak.

Dipping his head in acknowledgment towards the brute, who now named himself, he listened keenly with his flame-kissed ears pricked forward atop his fairly handsome crown. The way that Ned spoke was hard on the ears of the beast; he himself had been brought up in such a different way and the different in tongues was apparent. But thankfully, he could understand with ease. It almost gave even more character to the bleached brute, as did the serated edged horn.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ned."

After clearing his throat, Ned had continued to speak. Being an intelligent sir, the Sandman knew that perhaps honesty was best in this situation. In his pools, Ned was not going to be the newest member to the Edge, after being so insistent on the policy of racism. And in all fairness, the sorrel agreed. Whilst he was more comfortable with his own kind, the horned, he knew that supremacy above the other races was not the best path to lurch down.
Ned has also spoken of a race war in a different land, this helped Ricciardo to form the judgment that persisting on offering the Edge as his homeland would not be appreciated.

With a shake of his burly neck, he replied in a tone full of sincerity and almost apology that he could not offer what Ned sought. "I did not mean to cause offence, sir," he continued in the hope of remaining on neutral terms with the brute. Silently he prayed to the Gods that he could perhaps even make friends with the bleached brute, he seemed of good heart and after all, Ricciardo was evidently lonely in his state. With no one to talk to in his own herd, nevermind the rest of Helovia, a friend was something he did desire. Aside from the schemes and the calculations that he made in order to be of value to the Edge, the flame-kissed steed knew that having bonds with creatures was most important.
To be loved is greater than being alone in high stead, he scolded his own being. Was the Sandman changing his ideas on what he actually wanted? With a quick re-focus back onto the task that lay at hand, he continued his speech, "I respect your thoughts, and I most agree with you, Ned. War between races is something that I particularly do not want to be part of, but if you feel that way then perhaps the World's Edge wouldn't take your fancy." He sighed, and gave the alabaster a once over with his sandy pools and carried on, his voice tainted with perhaps even regret for his choice. "Between you and me, I know why the Edge only accepts unicorns, and I personally do not agree. But I came from a place where our kind were the only ones, and it suited me better to be in a herd of the same kind. But perhaps I made a mistake, there is no love there for me, I'm like an outsider..."

He turned away from Ned and gazed out to the horizon, wondering if he himself would ever settle fully here. It was not as he had expected, and bit by bit he was beginning to realise this. Feeling most dejected, he then turned his gaze back round to the stranger, giving him the other options that lay before him: "If you wish for a herd, Dragon's Throat and the Foothills are your best bet. Perhaps I shall almost certainly be scolded for it, I could perhaps walk with you to either if you desire to join one of those herds?"

What are you doing Ricc...? The voices inside his head questioned his judgement, but they were not going to let his determination dwindle.