The winds had changed, directing the mare's sweet, untainted aroma to the predator's swelled naves. He watched her fluid movements with a calculating stare, trying to discern whether or not this gentle creature would be worth his time. She showed no signs of any abnormalities -- her lowered head did not bear a horn, and her back did not house a pair of monstrous wings -- but the beast was hesitant about approaching her. She looked to be young and healthy, which was a bonus, but her health and her youth also let the brute know that she had taken part in few battles, if not any at all. He may be hard pressed for recruits, but he wanted willing, battle-ready warriors that would be prepared to run alongside him in wars that were sure to come. The buckskin had many plans in store for this land, and he could not afford to waste time recruiting the weak or simple-minded. Nonetheless, he was still looking for someone to bear him a few foals, and the vixen grazing in the clearing before him looked to be well-built and sturdy -- traits that he wanted to pass on to his child heirs.

Shaking out his body in anticipation, the quarter horse snapped his tail across his flanks and brought his head up in a friendly, authoritative manner. His long stride spoke of confidence and agility, his pale hooves covering ground in a rather timely fashion. Moments ago he had been on the other side of the small meadow, carefully watching his prey, but now he had almost made it to her side, and his gaze raked over her dappled architecture. Perhaps I was wrong. The vixen is more than just sturdy; she is strong and well-put together, with a scar -- Perhaps she has taken part in a number of spars? -- branded on her shoulder; long legs held up her light frame, but with a power and finesse that the brute almost admired. Those legs will carry her far, I'm sure, and are most-likely capable of out dancing even the quickest of soldiers. She may lack in brute strength, but perception and agility both play considerable roles when locked in battle with another. His musings about the onyx mare's potential were cut short by his own will, as he was more concerned about recruiting her in the present than he was in looking forward to an unsure future.

Without a word, the throne less king signaled to his dog to stay where he was; his companion hadn't moved from his spot among the trees since his master had glided into the clearing, but the brute just wanted to make sure that he did not scare the dappled fae away with his presence. Blue eyes rested on amber ones as he spoke in his low voice, calculating each move that the equine made in response to his introduction. "Good evening, young lady. What is a fine creature such as yourself doing in the Threshold at this hour? Oh, and do excuse my manners, my name is Ricochet. And what is yours?"


"Ricochet speaks"