It is raining.

It begun as a light drizzle, hardly more than a veil of mist. Clouds had come rolling, proud and thick, deep gray and painted with loose, easy strokes of a paintbrush dabbed in black. For a long minute, before the rain truly began to come falling down, it seemed the world turned gray, painted in forlorn drab ivory and silver, a ghostly cast over the Foothills. Tall, snow-laden peaks, even in the middle of summer, are hidden by the gray cloth of the miserable darkness driving down. Then the rain began to lash, a cold rain that did not stop and seemed to penetrate every inch of a horse's skin and made the flesh wrinkle and their head bow.

Argetlam had went to search for cover, for the few twisted, bowed trees that had crumpled under pressure of the wind that often swept across the rolling hills, sending the green and tawny grass rippling. The draft was huddled under one of the trees, hindquarters turned to the wind, the wind that encourage the rain to keep abusing horses soggy and damp. It was morning, but you couldn't tell from the thickness of the clouds. Dejecting, desolate, depressing, that's what it was, the peaceful giant thought glumly.

Normally the Windtossed Foothills was clarion, sapphire-skyed place full of gentle beauty. It was sheltered from bitter winters and the mountains cast long, dark shadows that tossed the blistering heat of Tallsun away. To say the least, it was a secluded place, but nevertheless a gorgeous one, and one always beating with the steady heartbeat of metal.

""

He is alerted by a crack. A little snap, a bit of a pop, that breaks the monotony of the falling rain that goes patter-patter-patter on the leaves and the dirt and the flower petals. What's that? Slowly, cautiously, the gentle, peaceable giant makes his way towards the strange sound of the forest. Most birds, he thought, would've been born in the spring. And it sounded a great deal larger than the songbirds that nested here. Dragon? Oh my god! It was a dragon! After so many tedious days of searching hopelessly for one of the diamond-scaled creatures, he found one! Argetlam breaks into an ambling, swaying trot, hooves heavy on the sweet green grass.

But when he arrives at the source of the snap, it is only a small, pale egg carefully scrutinized by a small paint, golden in tone and Foothills in scent. A small exhale leaves his forlorn mouth, and Arget frowns in disappointment. He sees only a glint of wet brown fur, smelling slightly of blood and the nutrients the egg provides; a strange, nose-wrinkling sort of scent. Assuming it will be okay to approach, the metal-crafter drifts closer, watching as something falls out of the satin-white egg.

He's never seen anything like it before; with powerful back legs and small ears, and it looks a little like a rabbit, except with a massive long tail that sweeps from its hind ends. It's fascinating, not quite as magnificent as a dragon persay, but certainly interesting. "Argetlam, miss. If you don't mind me asking... what's that from the egg? I've never seen anything like it before."

[meh short post]

The paint mare, hardly more than a filly, looks down fondly towards the egg, lips curling up into a smile despite the wet trickling down, teardrops of the sky. Or sweat. Whichever you prefer. Argetlam, naturally, enjoyed the thought of tears more, as it sounded so much more refined and elegant. Why the gods might be crying, however, was unknown to him, and he decided to put the matters to rest, instead shaking his soggy forelock and focusing his gentle amber eyes on the mare who looked so joyful. Tree... kang-gar-roo?" Argetlam tested the unknown words carefully, as if they were a foreign substance that might be poisonous or delicious. Never had he heard of a kangaroo. Still he preferred dragons- kangaroos looked too scrawny in the top and too bulky in the bottom, to his crafters' eyes. Despite his social... timidity, he had an acute sense it would be a poor idea to tell the near-mare this idea, and so instead complimented the name choice.

"Kyan is a good name, miss." It was, actually, Argetlam realized, a tiny bit surprised. Not what he would name his dragon, should he ever acquire one as a companion; but certainly good enough for this little kang-gar-roo. Feeling slightly as if intruding, the dark gray shire watches in quiet reverence as the mare tends to the little furry creature that hatched out of an egg. Personally, he thought it quite bizarre the animal had hatched from an egg- it didn't seem like a bird. Dolefully did he think that only birds cracked out of a shell. At least, that's the only animal he could think of aside from magnificent dragons.

[my short and sweet *cough*late*cough reply]