Ricochet glimpses the movement of her lips, but he cannot hear her over the cold rain falling from the gray sky. One ear flicks back uncertainly, before coming forward again, and his nostrils flare, tasting the air and testing her scent. She smells sharply of pine and fir, the damp and cold of the wilderness. How long has she been wandering on her own? There is scorn in her fierce eyes, muted disgust as she watches him, but to his imminent relief it fades. It is not like the Incendiary to be, ah, intimidated, especially by slender mares half his age… but there is a formidable force in the sharp lines of her dark face.

Again she mutters something, this time loud enough for him to hear it, an acceptance of his shabby apology. He shakes his sodden head, dislodging his bedraggled forelock, a gleam of red showing in his nostrils as he blows out through his muzzle, releasing the last remnants of tension in his chest. It’s comforting to hear he is the first she has met. There are altogether too many others who might corrupt the freedom of the equine mind, force her into joining one of the vermin-infested herds that roamed the land of the sun.

He wasn’t going to stop her if she truly wanted to join such a herd- the World’s Edge or the Windtossed Foothills. As far as he knew, mercenaries still lived inside the rolling hills at the foot of the mountains- he hadn’t bothered to check, remembering the last welcome he had gotten.
Still, it would be rude not to offer her a place with him and his slowly growing group of outcasts.

Ricochet cocks a hind hoof, shifting to a more comfortable position. Cold water pooled in the hollow of his spine, spilling out over the chiselled muscle of his shoulders every time he moved. In this weather, his winter coat was of little use, gaining pounds and not keeping out the frigid weather. He looked remarkably shaggy, his hair clumped, his tail thin and ragged. Mud clotted in his hooves and clung stubbornly to his fetlocks, turning his polished black legs an ugly shade of brown.

There’s a twist in his gut as he realizes she hasn’t offered her name. Teal eyes narrow sharply, and a wariness settles on his scarred features. It wasn’t often that this happened.
Inwardly he shrugs away his worry.

“There’s much to know, but we can go into details later, if you will. There are three herds- the World’s Edge, the Dragon’s Throat, and the Windtossed Foothills. You could go to any of these, and they’ll accept you. They’re true fools sometimes- no caution whatsoever in who they let into their grounds.” He falls quiet for a moment, thinking back to when he had belonged to such a herd. One might miss leadership- he did not. What pride was there in leading alongside a unicorn and bossy pegasus? If he ascended to such leadership again, it would only be to lead Nieque’s descendants. “They believe in equality of the species, and allow unicorns and pegasi alongside equines.” Ricochet is careful to leave out his own opinion- at least for now.

“I lead my own outcast band, though we lack numbers. In my band- we do not yet hold sway over a herdland- only horses may belong.” The Incendiary’s tail flicked across his damp flanks. “We stick together, and we are warriors. Of course, you can always go your own ways if you wish. If not, I can take you to any of the herds I’ve mentioned. Or you can stay with me.” There is nothing seductive about his voice. He tried that before, with an autumnal mare, and it was disastrous. Instead, he offers her a warm smile, a comforting one.

“Here there are also companions, magics, even gods. Companions can bond to your heart and soul, and are very small. Magic, well, that’s self-explanatory… as for gods, that’s a pretty heavy topic to cover.”