Gaucho, had never ventured to the Endless Blue before - he never had a reason to. And yet the great God of the Sun had gifted him a task - to spread the word of the Fire Lord to one and all. For a creature like Gaucho, you must realize, that this was a nearly insurmountable task. While many inhabitants of Helovia thought the massive bay to be slow of wit and stupid, this was actually quite far from the truth. Behind the primitive warrior's blue-gray gaze, an instinctive and complicated mind was at work - it is simply the case, that his mind does not work quite like yours does. And so, many leave Gaucho to his duties of defending the Throat, for that is what he was clearly made to do.

On this day however, as his patrol had ended early, Gaucho flies west, towards the setting sun. His dark body is outlined against the horizon, as he veers towards the water. He can see his reflection on it's surface, as he flies along the coast, and he is amused by this. Comforted, to know that he is not alone, for the face of his father, and his fathers fathers, are watching over him - you can see them, just below the waves. Gaucho knows that when our bodies no longer draw in air, that they are sent back into the heavens, and the Earth, but that apart of us stays - held captive - within the soils on which we walked.

While the eloquence of this was lost on Gaucho, he still understood but could not communicate these thoughts, much less those of the Sun God. Raising his steely gaze, he spied a shape, lit by the blooming moon, standing on the shorelines. Tossing his antlered brow, Gaucho dipped lower, skimming the waters now, as he bridged the distance between the two. Eyes narrowed, he took in her lithe and slender shape as he landed a few feet down the beach - beating his massive black wings to slow his descent, and gently place himself on the sands.

Grunting, the primitively-marked stallion moves towards her - eying her antlers with interest. They are so like his own...and he wonders if hers are magically affixed to her brow, or if she is indeed a unicorn. Halting a few feet away, Gaucho folds his large wings to his flanks, his nose twitching as he inhales her scent, which likewise causes the bone piercing his nose to dance a bit. She is not of the Throat...that much is clear, but on neutral grounds, her affiliation to other herds is not on top of mind. "I Gaucho." He offers, for he has learned that it is customary and polite even, to introduce yourself. His voice is rich and resonant as he speaks, yet it is apparent that he isn't used to speaking, or at least not in long sentences.

As she speaks her name, Gaucho huffs as if frustrated. Nearly every mare and stallion he had encountered within Helovia, had been named something complicated and entirely too difficult for him to pronounce. Already several summers old, one would think the primal steed would have gotten used to enunciating and speaking clearly. As no one had ever really taken the time to teach him, Gaucho has merely done the best he could with what he had, picking up bits and pieces of grammar and pronunciation here and there - but nothing too extravagant. "Draaah-vi-low" he mimicked, sounding out her name, but repeating it in a way which made it sound awkward and bulky. Shaking his large head, the bay grunted, exhaling sharply. Her question however, he could easily answer, and the frustration on his dark features seemed to melt away as he spoke of the Throat. "Gaucho from Dragon-sss-Throat. Throat good." Concluding with a definite bob of his head.

As a wave slammed into the shore, showing them both with salty spray, Gaucho stood stoically as the water dripped down his dark wings. He seemed not to have even noticed - or if he did, he didn't appear to mind. Even though the waters were dark and slightly ominous looking in the moonlight, Gaucho stepped away from Zdravilo, entering the salty brine with little hesitation as the chilly waters encompassed his dark legs. With an ungraceful thwack, his wings dropped to the water, hitting them with a hollow sound as his feathers spread out across the surface. Lowering his muzzle, he sniffed the water for a moment, before deciding that the salty liquid was probably not the best for drinking. Realizing the silence that had descended upon them, Gaucho frowned, looking at Zdravilo as if he had forgotten something. "Where is .... Drah-vih-low from?" He asked tentativley, pausing before having to pronounce her name again.

Basin .... He knew of them. What had they been called? Ray-sists?. He hadn't entirely understood the word at the time, only the negative connotation that accompanied it. His ears moved back slightly as he tried to remember what Kri had said. Still, they were on neutral ground here, and unless she did something threatening, he couldn't see any reason why her affiliation, or being a ray-sist would matter.

Snorting, he watched her gallop towards the oceans frosty waters, before leaping into the air. For a moment, it was as if she could fly, and in response, Gaucho's own wings moved slightly in the water, as if he could keep her air-born. As her body dipped low towards the water, he snorted, turning his antlered brow away as frigid droplets splattered all around him. Tossing his dark forelock from his eyes, and shaking like a great dog to rid himself of water, he turned back to the mare with an incomprehensible grunt.

"Flying is good" He advised, moving his large black wings in the water to emphasize his point. Gaucho had never really given it much thought - the fact that he could fly or that others couldn't. Yet as her body's prolonged glide had come to an end, he found himself wondering, in his own simple way, if creatures without wings, were jealous of those with.