Rory
For a long time, all Rory heard was the soft footfall of unshod horse feet on the not-yet-frozen ground. It was a constant sound matching whatever was going on in his head these days: an endless plod towards a distant horizon as time and space ceased to exist. He was lost in the haze of these Outlanders having popped up like weeds in his neighborhood.
What it might mean for them all.
What it might mean for him.
A hunger and a hope flaring bright and hot, scorching his chest; a fickle and dangerous thing, that. He didn't even know what he wanted, for he didn't know what there was to want. It was directionless and primal, a force he did not know what to do with.
He was astride Bakshi—his favorite mare was still recovering from her abscessed hoof—because out of his remaining choices, Bakshi was always the best. He was sure-footed and even-tempered and fairly comfortable unlike the other mare, who had really strong opinions on everything and a trot that was specifically designed to castrate you. One of her opinions was, sadly, that jogging—which wasn't all that bad on her—was overrated.
And considering that he only had three ponies to choose from, Bakshi was always the second best choice.
He was heading over towards what little civilization there was for two reasons: one, the usual hello does anyone need my services? he had been performing since he first learned how to work leather, and two, the new and exciting what sort of weird people will I see today?!
He didn't even make it past the Spire before seeing weird people.
They were sitting fairly close to the Spire, one with what looked to be a book spread over his lap. His outline seemed familiar. Everything in Rory's brain suggested it was Remi. The other he hadn't seen before.
He'd brought Bakshi to a halt without even noticing, gauging the distance between the duo and the Spire with a wary expression. After a couple of seconds he heaved a small sigh and turned the pony in their direction, ambling over and bringing the animal to a halt some five yards behind them.
"Don't you think you're a little close to the Spire for a picnic?" he asked mildly, but from his rather unhurried demeanor, one could assume he did not believe them to be in immediate, mortal danger.
What it might mean for them all.
What it might mean for him.
A hunger and a hope flaring bright and hot, scorching his chest; a fickle and dangerous thing, that. He didn't even know what he wanted, for he didn't know what there was to want. It was directionless and primal, a force he did not know what to do with.
He was astride Bakshi—his favorite mare was still recovering from her abscessed hoof—because out of his remaining choices, Bakshi was always the best. He was sure-footed and even-tempered and fairly comfortable unlike the other mare, who had really strong opinions on everything and a trot that was specifically designed to castrate you. One of her opinions was, sadly, that jogging—which wasn't all that bad on her—was overrated.
And considering that he only had three ponies to choose from, Bakshi was always the second best choice.
He was heading over towards what little civilization there was for two reasons: one, the usual hello does anyone need my services? he had been performing since he first learned how to work leather, and two, the new and exciting what sort of weird people will I see today?!
He didn't even make it past the Spire before seeing weird people.
They were sitting fairly close to the Spire, one with what looked to be a book spread over his lap. His outline seemed familiar. Everything in Rory's brain suggested it was Remi. The other he hadn't seen before.
He'd brought Bakshi to a halt without even noticing, gauging the distance between the duo and the Spire with a wary expression. After a couple of seconds he heaved a small sigh and turned the pony in their direction, ambling over and bringing the animal to a halt some five yards behind them.
"Don't you think you're a little close to the Spire for a picnic?" he asked mildly, but from his rather unhurried demeanor, one could assume he did not believe them to be in immediate, mortal danger.
