The day finds the mangled stallion toddling over the sands. They prove a challenging terrain to conquer with a lame leg, though the heat has done well to coddle the wound that is sure to leave a scar on the stallion's hide. Just another addition among many.

His slow pace is already an improvement over when he first arrived; living is any improvement over death. Onni's talents with the healing avenue saved him, and for that he was forever indebted to her, a debt he realized he would need to begin paying. Coris never enjoyed being in the position of owing anyone anything, but he wasn't much in the position to be deciding the outcome his future at this moment. He had none other to blame than himself either, which was perhaps the most frustrating aspect of all this. It had been his folly sending him after that bear in the dead of frostfall. Had his inadequacies in service to Mauja turned him into a bow-legged colt once more?

Hruffing out a resigned sigh to his fate, Coris settled among the back of the herd like a dismal cloud. Coming behind him the small falcon alighted upon his withers, hard eyes watching the new surroundings with silent judgement. Both of their eyes sought the only faces they were familiar with, easily finding the splotchy Onni leaning in towards one of the duos that seemed to be heading this gathering. He wondered out of needless curiosity what they spoke of, and rather selfishly, if it concerned him. He would be living here for some time to fully heal his body and return in similar amount the services Onni had done for him. He would submit fully to the requirements of his payment however. Coris was a stallion of his word - often it was all he had to offer and it seemed as good a thing as any to be made of.

The stallion flicked his tail with idle interest while Venati twisted about to preen his feathers in boredom. All this talk of war concerned neither of them, each having no combat skills or passion for this land and its people. It would not bode well if they became prisoners of war, but they would rather keep their heads down than pledge lives or crease their 'brows with worry lines on topics they could not influence. They would focus on what they were good at; killing hares and stripping their cadavers for instruments of creation.

How easily it would be to do the same to a horse is Coris had the care to try.