The martyr knows that what is playing out before him is wrong. He feels uncomfortable in this body; he wonders if his time here is borrowed just as is this form. Those around him know each other well in their own way, even if they have just met. The other stallion, the massive draft to whom he feels such a strong connection, carries himself with pride and poise that seems to impress the mares before him. But the... sisters, Huric gathers, are just as powerful themselves. It is clear by the words of the white that they are figures of authority in this band of Grey soldiers. With the dignified deference of a soldier, he bows his new and awkward body to their will, bending forward ever so slightly when the stallion introduces him.

Introduces him as someone else entirely. There is a slow trickle of information from a mind that cries in the back of his mind; this Knox, this being whose body he has stolen, whose companion he has disturbed, and whose brother he has tricked. Huric pities this Knox.

But there is not enough information- not enough knowledge to fill in the gaps. Huric comes from a different time and place. Here everything is strange words and strange creatures. He has never seen these beings before, even if Knox has- even if the white reminds him of this. Her memories, gone? But now he was the one who did not know her, if it was really true that she had forgotten him.

But how could she have forgotten him, when he hadn't ever even known her? Are time and the memories locked in the mind really so fluid- so hard to grasp? The kind stallion stands close beside his brother and watches with a wandering eye as the loyal retriever returns to his side. She brushes against him as she searches for something he cannot give her. He feels a pain so immense in the depths of her blue eyes. He understands that he is feeling her pain just as much as his own.

But the conversation distracts him from the emotions for a time. Huric may be susceptible to such waves of feeling, but even a being as sentimental as he recognized a need for seriousness. The opportunity and situation seemed grave; it was suddenly imperative that he maintain his identity as this Knox- this newly inducted warrior of the Grey's younger brother.

"A pleasure to meet you," he says with a nod to the darker mare who seemed suspicious of him. He bites back the phrase in turn to the white mare, of whom he can find no trace in Knox's blinded, cowering mind. She knows Huric, and thus he will act as if it is mutual. He simply nods to her, however, in a greeting that would have been customary between old friends in the old country. He knows that this is not the old country, but he knows just as well that his own memories of etiquette are all he has to draw on now.

Knox will have wanted to stay with his brother, Huric thinks. If the two of them are so close- and the martyr knows nothing of the time he will spend in this body, he would be foolish to sacrifice this opportunity for Knox, should the stallion ever return to take the helm. "I would like to join your ranks alongside my brother," Huric proffers with some nervous tensity and a kind look towards the large draft, who he has gathered from the words of the dark mare is named Archibald. At his side, the retriever whines softly. He wonders faintly if it is in protest; wonders again when the scent of prey catches the wind and a strange sort of animal hunger stirs in his chest. Through blue eyes not belonging to his mind, the martyr looks out upon the new and strange world.