Without hesitation, the russet leader seemed to take the offer of company well. He expected she'd turn him down, surely concerned with more important things. A grateful smile laced his lips, maybe curled with a touch of pride that he was getting to speak privately with Kri. But the joy soon gave way to all the thoughts and worries that plagued him. It often seemed as though Kri had to handle all the herd's problems on her own, for many of her followers were more than content to sit idly by. Frequently, he wondered how all of the other ranks were managing. The soldiers were undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with, as Mauja and his band had found out. But were the other levels of the Throat just as strong?

Kri's reassuring words did ease his fears, if only slightly, and he respected her thoughts well. Cream hair flounced about his crown, nodding in agreement to the leader's assessment. She brought up the name of the Foothills, a group he'd herd mentioned not so long ago. With the slightest trace of irritation falling into his expression, he recalled the buckskin colt from the Threshold. "I know little about the Foothills, though I met one of their soldiers in the Threshold the other day. Ricochet. He had only insults for the Throat." Gold eyes had hardened, glancing from the sands to the matriarch. "It took some resolve on my part not to teach him a lesson then and there. Are we on good terms with the Foothills, Kri?" Of course he knew better than to go about causing trouble with the other herds, but Leander was not going to let the young stallion's pride go unhindered. One day, he would teach the boy how to speak to his elders. But this was not the time nor place to linger on such things. The stoic lady Kri would certainly not be impressed with any angry outbursts from her warriors.

Weighing on the golden's mind throughout the budding conversation had been a piece of information. He'd been feebly telling himself that whatever he and Faelene had was not some dark secret. But with Faelene and the rest of Mauja's band now at obvious odds with the Throat, knowledge of their meetings had grown in importance. Silently, he vowed to keep the matter to himself unless knowledge of it was vital to the safety of the herd. Speaking of it without reason could be a powerful mistake.
"Mauja's group will probably not attack our herdlands. But they may try to attack us when we are out of the Throat and most vulnerable; our young and solitary members may be most at risk." Memories of his own youth shuddered through his mind, of a horned beast lashing at his own haunches when he was far to young to fight. A grimace flashed over his features, betraying the normally solid exterior.