Wandering the blistering landscapes of Solterra wore his patience thin, soaked his hide through, and made his bones ache. A truly unforgiving landscape, at best; at worst, it would be someone's end. But something about it struck a chord with Torstein, and although he was wholly uncertain of what this continent would bring him, he was intent on learning what it had to offer. Not like he had any fathomable way to get back to his old homestead in Stolthet, anyway.
Thus, he trekked. From the jutting expansion of Elatus Canyon, he worked his way downward - for when he peered over the plains that lay in the distance, a structure large and bold caught his eye. It was to this, he trudged. Across the shrublands, hot in the day and searingly cold at night, towards what he would learn to be "the Day Court."
He was staring upon the tall walls of the Court, inspecting the old but still strong ruins and worn but not crumbling stone, when he heard the booming cry. Black ombre ears perked up ever so slightly, and his head turned in the direction from whence it came. Peering off in the not-so-far distance, he spotted the origin from which he assumed it came: a painted stallion, with a set of large, stately wings folded at his sides and a posture that bled confidence. The massive beast tilted his head, and chuckled to himself. This should be good.
Heavy hooves plodded slowly towards the gathering of equines that was steadily growing larger in numbers. Getting closer, a familiar scent hit his nostrils alongside all of the fresh ones... as he stood farther away from the crowd, his eyes scanned those present. Eventually, they fell upon the mare with the collar on her neck. No motion was made to call to or signal the gray fem, but instead a mental note was made - she must be either a regular in this area, of a member of... whatever the hell this gathering was.
He knew she was the only one that might recognize him (although truth be told, he'd be quite shocked if she didn't). To everyone else, he might as well be an unwelcome visitor - but he was not standing close to them by any means. That was not to say that he couldn't hear the conversations taking place; he was just close enough to, even if he had no current interest in interjecting.
Instead, he stood by silently, listening and taking in what the painted stallion (and various others) had to say. He had a good pep talk, Torstein would give him that... but having no idea of what his qualifications were, Tor really couldn't be a good judge on whether or not he could lead.
But why would I care if he could lead, anyway?
Ombre ears twitched backwards, laying lazily against the crown of his head. He bickered mentally with himself: but now that I think about it... I have no conceivable way to return to Stolthet. It would make sense to find a place to call my home, even if it's temporarily. Nothing would make him stay for the long term if he didn't want to, anyway. And from a quick glance, this gathering of people didn't seem too terribly incapable. Speaking of them...
The painted stallion with wings, confident and headstrong. Maybe qualified... but who knows?
The gray collared mare, unsure but seemingly devoted. Adorable in her own right.
The horned, mottled, and scarred stallion that rivaled his own size (not something he saw often). He had obviously seen battle - but were his scars an indicator of battles lost, or battles won?
The golden mare - quite picturesquely pretty - that was oh so silent initially. She spoke of 'The Day Court' - was that where this was? Must be.
The striped mare with dreadlocks a-plenty. She seems like a flower child, if anything.. possibly high maintenance beyond belief. Her words were laughably devoted. Either she knew this stallion well, or she was irrationally foolhardy.
A mare, colored of void and gold, who seemed more respectfully reserved of the odd stallion. Her words made it seem like these - citizens, were they? Of the Day Court? Of Solterra, like Seraphina had spoken? - barely knew this bellowing stallion.
And last - but he was sure more would show - was the mare painted in muted colors and littered with scars. Her beauty was rough in its own sense, but he could tell her personality was even rougher. That could be irritating... although maybe first impressions would be deceiving.
Action. Thoughts. "Speech."
Grumpelstiltskin is here!
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I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
