| Up For Adoption |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17.3 :: 7 |
| Adoptable |
argetlam</style>
Indeed there were hoofbeats, quiet, muffled thuds on the forest floor of a stallion tall and broad, muscular and with the potential to be handsome, in the eyes of the beholder. Yet despite his architectural advantages as a warrior, towering at 17 hands high with a body that can, and would, sustain abuse with ease, his mind was gentle and his words quiet, and more often than not he mumbled and stuttered, skipping over words or they not forming correctly on his tongue. Crafters, it always seemed, were often like this- they had little regards for society, instead valuing individuality and originality. However, valuing independence was not scorning the herds, and Argetlam, the great dapple gray was named, was quite a social... er, well, not butterfly, persay, but sociable enough.
The crafter had taken to the Threshold as had many of the Foothills, hoping to recruit for the coming invasion. At any moment, any day, any hour, they could all be fighting for their home, their beloved Foothills. Yes, the herd was small, and boring at times, but it was their Foothills; it definitely should not be for mercenaries. Mercenaries never had morales, Argetlam told himself, but whether to comfort himself with the sketchy concept of fighting or in honesty, that was unknown, even to him. His heart twinged uneasily, and he sighed. Even now, the gape in his memory disturbed him, despite him coming more to terms with it. Surely it must've been related to the mercenaries, he thought to himself.
Yet still he felt uneasy.
Much to his relief, his eyes were drawn to a figure in the forest, a foreigner, with only wild-scent, as Argetlam nick-named the blend of pine, sap, and loneliness. Sometimes horses wore wild-scent with quiet pleasure, others they were simply lost in Helovia, waiting for someone to come by and care for them. Whatever the case, Argetlam needed to greet her with cordiality and politeness.
"Hello!" He called, picking up into a brisk trot towards her, silver barettes flashing in his mane and tail. "I am Argetlam, miss, a Foothills stallion, may I help you?"
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