As the sound of the forest surrounding began to resume, paused long enough only to study the creature who called so peculiarly trough their midst, the female with the pelt of almost crimson glanced his way; naturally, and like many before her, she stared - first and foremost. There wasn’t the slightest hint of relief on her dainty-like features, bold-white which stuck out from the rest of her like a shag on a rock. In fact, when she spoke (or stuttered, in truth), the sound quickly proved his theory surrounding her apprehension. Banjo sighed heavily. It wasn’t like horses with wings or the same with spikes - or both, were any less strange, intimidating… Nevertheless, that was the reaction she’d rewarded his friendly, polite gesture, and after a moment of bother, the quirky buck shed his dismay.

First and foremost, “The names Banj, matey…” The tone was always pleasant, cheerful, though he took a long breath after and waited on the spot initially arrived upon - despite the very best intentions (and perhaps over expectation?), the pretty lady had failed to invited him forward. “…a horsaroo. It’s a long story.” And apparently one that hadn't the time to be told any time soon. While he lingered on, awkwardly, from a distance, a second horse appeared.

The new bloke was as white as her face (save for a few homely stains) and spotty like the colours of the night sky in reverse. He snatched her attention instantly, and really, Banjo was more than grateful for the distraction - it prompted his wilting smile to strengthen suddenly, obviously. Rather more amicably than the first, the stallion offered greeting and the bronze buck gave the same in return. So tender seemed the voice that escaped Spotty’s lips afterwards, that the unsuspecting horsaroo nearly vomited; the other looked burly, big, and the sharp blue stick his brow wielded only served to compliment that image.

It seemed though that he wasn’t quite her cup of tea either.

Her eyes opened so wide upon him that Banjo wondered silently, nervously, if they might come loose in that moment and fall  plop, plop! to the ground. It would save her the same reaction repeating endlessly as she wandered this wilderness anyway… Both gave their names, which was nice, productive, and the buck followed suit, offering his again should Mauja have missed it the first time. “Banjo.” Switching focus back to their feminine company, he continued with some empathy, “You’re standin in the threshold, a forest on the brink of Helovia.” It was actually the first time he’d been given the chance to run that line (it had been used by ‘veterans’ in almost every other meet and greet he’d been involved in here, so far; consequently he shifted eyes by the other male, even the tiniest glint of pride playing through his expression.

But they was all he could remember of that introductory spiel, so he handed the microphone over graciously.