His ears flick back towards Plague, hesitance in his step at the sudden change in tone. The golden stallion hesitates, narrow frame not precisely still but no longer moving away. He glances back with one wary, sky-colored eye caught in the salt white mask of his face. He considers the question that was put to him, rolling over several possible answers. Then he turns a little more to face the dark steed, wary but too good-natured to hold the moment of anger against him. He lowered his head a little, caught between wariness and curiosity.
"I am Vadim." A name is an innocent enough thing to give. He worries the ground with a hoof, digging at the dry ground. It's not hard, precisely. Firmer than the sand of the Mors but not the hard cracked surface of the salt plains he grew up on. The texture is different and he focuses on it for a moment. "I presume we would be childless without them"
The answer is bland, and perhaps surprisingly clinical for the slight stallion. There is even a touch of cynicism in it. While mares are all well and good as horse, he doesn't see the big deal. Though he is poignantly aware of their importance in ensuring a future for them all. After all, isn't that why he left? There was no place in the resource starved lands of the Veter for a stallion who had no interest in fathering children.
"Have you been in Novus long?" He hazards a guess- he hasn't spoken with many (anyone?) who was a native here. Everyone seems to be a stranger brought in from somewhere.
@BlackPlague
