One minute, he's walking through the swamp land, wandering aimlessly while lost in his own head. The next, he comes across a rocky incline and curiosity takes over. A few minutes later, and he's utterly lost, only the wide stretch of the steppe's unforested grassland surrounding him on all sides. He wasn't even sure if he could find his way back to the swamp he'd gotten so turned around.
It just seemed to stretch on endlessly for miles and miles, and he felt starkly out of place in his messy, filthy coat and very dark appearance. He must stick out like a sore thumb. To make matters worse, the whole area seemed to reek of battle and war. It felt like if he turned around he'd be facing down a fight.
He didn't much think he wanted to fight.
And the situation showed no signs of improving, as the distant rumbling of thunder bid the oncoming storm. It wasn't quite freezing today, so there would be no snow. It was just above the threshold for that, bidding only frigid, horrid rain.
And he was lost, and very much so exposed to the elements.
Oh Vespera he wanted to go home.
He was mostly left alone in the swamplands, more so due to the fact that he knew how to avoid company by now if he didn't wish it. (For the most part, he knew the well trodden areas, but some people loved to veer off path.) This place seemed to be frequented by many, and was far less enclosed than the muggy environment he was used to. He could see for miles, and anyone nearby could see him.
For once, his need to go home began to overpower the fear of meeting others. Surely, someone would be kind enough to point him back in the direction of the swamp?
He opened his mouth, before his breath caught in his throat and he choked on his call. He slowly closed his mouth, enormous canines nibbling on his lip, the sharp points causing a small trickle of blood to drip to the ground as he chewed, the man hardly even noticing the damage. It only added to the scent of iron that permeated the area. The scent of sweat and conflict.
He couldn't, not in this place. No warrior, no fighter, would help him. He would be ridiculed.
Or even slain for setting hoof into a warrior's domain.
His pupils shrunk to pinpricks as he inadvertently began hyperventilating through his nose. The man stilled, before turning around where he stood, ears flat against his head as he scanned the horizon for any presence, any at all. He turned back again, still looking, and seeing nothing but endless stretches of steppe reaching off into the horizon.
His hooves nervously tapped in place, as he almost danced where he stood, slowly realizing just how out of place he was in this warrior's domain.
Oh gods, he was so exposed, he could be caught at any moment!
He could feel the uncomfortable prickle that felt like he was being watched crawling up his spine.
His head snapped to look over his shoulder, but he could see no one.
Nothing.
It didn't stop him from breaking into a gallop as he gave a frightened cry, racing off into the distance to try and run away from the perceived danger. It felt like he was being hunted by a wolf pack, and his pupils were practically non-existent as he ran with everything he had, the copper of his irises overtaking the black as he sprinted off into nowhere.
All he could see was the endless reaching of nothingness and nowhere, and all he could feel was the phantom sensation of hunting dogs snapping at his heels, teeth grazing at his hocks, their eyes prickling at his spine.
@
OOC: Figured this place would be the best place for an anxiety-ridden mess and a youth from two different courts to meet, since it's right between the borders. :D
