Not even the sweet smells of the desert could keep Pippigrin grounded in his herdland— not for long, anyhow. The hobbit had been keenly awaiting a slightly more likeable weather of an excusrions, the kind that did not cause him to feel as though his skin might just burn right off his delicate, round body. The sweltering heat of the oasis was one greatly adored by some, be it the aristocrats of Helovia who enjoy the finer fruits it bore and the bohemian charm of the low-laying country, or the battle-hardened warriors who took no delight in the cold.

Feather light and shakable as a daisy, Pippin had soared north-east of his southern abode. This was an excursion, a great journey, that had only been made with a feasible amount of planning and calculation by the foal-sized stallion; because obviously, one as little as he was not accustomed to journeying great distances and certainly not over windswept deserts and country-sized meadows. Hobbits from over-the-hill were generally more social creatures, always staying in the same spot for the entirety of their lives and not ever really venturing more than a five-mile radius from the herd's center.
This was what made Pippin a rarity; a great gem. Though, if the hobbits from Over-the-hill could see him now, they would probably just think him quite stupid.

So it was like a leaf on the wind that the child of stone soared over the threshold, his eyes of cold and wintry days peering keenly below the canopy. He had planned on recovering his beloved saucepan, the one stolen by a great bear upon his entry to Helovia, though his confidence in retriving it was fairly low by this point - there was just so many trees... and each looked exactly the same. They stretced for miles, as far as the eye could see. His poor saucepan was long lost.
Treading his winds upon the windcurrent, keeping his body in place in the air, Pippin let a great sight escape his maw. Goodbye saucepan.
It was at this moment that a number of voices flooded into his ears, and with great curiosity the minature craned his neck to look at the trees below.

Under the branches and roofing of the canopy he saw a small gathering, including one young stag he recognised from his own herdland. A name nor title was known of this fellow Thoratian, only that he belonged to his herd.
Swooping with all the precision he could muster, Pip darted like a bullet 'neath the forest's roof, sending leafy shrapnel flying and littering those gathered below.
"Hullo!" He cheered from above, circling the trio before he landed with a great fumble behind a near-by oak.
Emerging with a number of twigs and leafy debris littered in his mane and feathers, the minuscule gentleman strode forth to greet them, though not before warning them of the great saucepan snatcher.
"There's a bear that lives in these woods - he stole my saucepan only last week!"

Folding his wings, the creature of barely ten-hands-high walked right under Yves's stomach in an attempt to cross infront of those gathered without walking infront of anyone (because THAT would be rude. so rude.)
"I am Pippin! A warrior of the mighty Dragon's Throat. Which herdlands are you fellows from?"