"fear the Vulture and it will come. fear nothing and you are the Vulture."

He heeds the trumpet that shakes the very hoof beneath his large, feathered hooves. It was impressive, to be certain, though it leaves an ugly taste in his mouth. It is reminiscent of Ontrou, his father, who had expected every whim and thought of his attended to by a great audience.

So it was with narrowed eyes and wary demeanor that the vulture appears from the forests. His heavy body is drenched in sweat; truthfully he finds no relief in the shade and very little at night. The bright tawny of his coat is darkened to dingy copper, thick mane plastered to his great hefty crest. He’d found the long, hot days to be much damper than the plateaus or the pleasure desert. But the heat was the same, as the thin air of the mountains did little to buffer the sun’s rays.

A curious glance was spared the the small elephant splashing in the shade, along with the antlered (much more impressive than the horns of Dorobians, he thought smugly), copper man dashing around it. A glance travels around, noting with a brightening expression, that there were plenty of women gathering beneath the lilac tent.

Perhaps these meetings wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

His eyes particularly stay on a roaned woman, stockier of frame than some of the lithe mares present; but the vulture preferred more curves than angles— it gave better leverage to hold onto. Her body is brushed with white, though her legs and face are deep blue in color. Again, antlers sprout from her brow, while gold bangles adorn them. He is intrigued, heavy limbs carrying him closer to woman who was deliciously slick with sweat and standing alongside another lovely, spotted winged woman.

But, before the man can fully approach the mare who so fully stole his attention, a small, striped creature dashes past him. His ears sweep forward, nostrils flared—another Dorobian? Fleeing in fear? His starkly white-masked face cocks, turning to follow the terrified retreat of the smaller stallion. What had him spooked? He hovers, part of him wanted to follow the creature, but most of him wanting to approach the roaned woman.

And absolutely none of his attention was focused on the fact that this was a meeting, not a social hour, meant for business.

- - G R A A S V O E L - -