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The plains draw in him, so similar to the steppe he was born on that memories freely bob to the surface of his thoughts, pleasant, warm, melting into a stream of nostalgia that trickles and gathers in his chest, softening his gaze as it drifts across the billowing sea of grass and scrub. He finds that if he stares toward the horizon, letting the foreground blur into an indistinct swathe of gold and brown, he can even imagine being there for a moment, his brash companions of youth still hovering at either shoulder, almost tangible, brushing against his shaggy sides-
but it does no good to dwell on the past.
He exhales, letting himself acknowledge the happiness and surety of that time, but never cling to it. The mud-colored stallion is far too pragmatic to be wooed by regret or self-pity. He is glad to have had these moments, not sad that they’re over. There is more to come for him, or there will be, provided he packs enough fat between his ribs to survive the cold of winter.
The grass here is sun-bleached and flaccid, a clever camouflage meant to discourage grazing animals from gorging on the still densely packed nutrients hidden inside, but he knows better, dropping his head to eat greedily, taking huge clumps of flat bladed forage into his mouth and chewing with abandon.
Shaggy coated and with a blocky, unattractive head now gulping down food at a prodigious rate, he makes for a garish sight compared to the dainty picking of some. Call it convenient then that he's never been one to waste time on reflection or comparison, preferring always to stay in the here and the now; and now, he is hungry.
His body is depleted from travel, his disfigured leg aching even more sharply than usual. He tries to rest it, propping it up on the toe of his hoof while he gorges, but the damaged tissues complain incessantly, prompting his skin to twitch and his tail to lash uselessly at his side. Preoccupied, he might not have even noticed the other stallion if his passing on the hilltop above hadn't created a dark silhouette between knoll and sky, a flash of movement along its crest.
"Hello there!" He calls, oblivious to the bits of half chewed grass spraying out with his words. "How are you?"
"speech"
@Jericho
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