The small dark form that moved through the shade of the trees wasn't one seen often there. The sturdy body was considerably different from the deer and the elk that so often made up the large herbivore population, all the more unusual as the prancing equine was clearly, obviously alone. No, this stallion disdained the tradition of bachelor herds full of sad wet blankets who couldn't get their own harem and struck out on his own.

This was Pippin, and he was one of a breed of ponies long bred by nature to inhabit the rocky fells of certain northern islands. By consequence his frame was compact and ruggedly strong, his hooves sturdy and sure-footed, and he moved with the clear confidence and intelligence native to his kind. Long black tail flagged behind him like a banner, the stallion moved at a slow, head-bobbing trot through the shade, a showy gait certainly but not one that would tire him overly much in the summer heat, until he came to a sudden, prancing halt.

The pony reared up, craning his neck to the branches of an apple tree to nose at the tiny, newly forming fruits before he dropped back to the earth and snorted. Sadly it was far too early for apples, even for a pony with as much a sweet tooth as Pippin. The young green apples wouldn't yet be sweet and edible, and would give him a terrible bellyache besides. A pity - he did so like sweet things. He twitched his tail jerkily in irritation, but subsided, instead dropping his muzzle to the crop at the grass around the base of the tree. So near to the river, the grass here had not yet achieved the tasteless, dry consistency of many of the plains grasses he'd crossed to get here, and for the moment he contented himself in the pleasure of ripping up mouthfuls of the fresh greenery.

As it so happened, Alarik had a nasty habit of straying too far from his family, especially when his siblings decided they wanted to nap in the warmth of the early summer afternoon. Alarik just wasn't the napping type. He loved to sleep if it meant dreaming, but his naps rarely held dreams. They were just black and boring, and left him feeling drowsy for hours afterward. So what was the point? He padded away, back into the orchard he had grown so used to playing in. It was an excellent place to play pretend, because it looked like a magical forest. It smelled pretty magical too, with the apple blossoms slowly dying away and being replaced by green mini apples. Alarik looked at these with curiosity, wishing he could see them closer. They were so little! But eventually he gave up on the mini apples and started romping further into the collection of fruit bearing trees, slowly formulating a play pretend scenario in his mind. Should he fight an ogre today? No, he and his brother had done that yesterday. He hadn't climbed any treacherous mountains lately, maybe he could do that. Maybe the princess would be trapped at the top of that mountain. By villainous pirates! Alarik laughed a bit as he kept romping about, working out the details in his head as he and his band of knights began their climb. But then he saw something not at all pretend, and it stopped him in his tracks. Right there in front of him, barely twenty feet away, was... well, what was it? It looked sort of like a deer, but a bit shorter and stockier. And it was jet black. The little boy stared with widening eyes. Whatever the creature was, it was beautiful. He tiptoed closer, trying to be sneaky but naturally failing thanks to his clumsy puppy paws. Eventually he ducked behind a tree, hiding everything but his head from view as he observed the creature. He wanted to say something to it, just to see if he would be understood. Maybe he could say something really cool and brave. Like what? "Hello?" He called out, stepping out from behind the tree a bit. Okay, so that wasn't exactly cool or brave. But it was a start. "Talk" "You" Think

One did not survive long as a prey animal if one was not aware of their surroundings. Even as he chomped and pulled orchard grass to satisfy his stomach (though not his sweet tooth) the dark pony's ears were constantly flickering and turning to catch sounds. With his eyes on the side of his head rather than the front like a predatory wolf, there was little he couldn't see around him. But for all of nature's precautions, Pippin was an arrogant little bastard and gave much less thought to caution. Oh certainly he heard the laughter and crashing of underbrush as something undoubtedly young and irritating caterwauled through it, but past pinning his ears and scraping one forehoof against the rich loam in obvious irritation he strove to ignore it in favor of delicious moist grass.

Until the whatever-it-was tried to speak to him.

With a snort, the stallion arched his neck to bring his head around to face the voice. A little wolf, unusually colored compared to what he was used to, and while admittedly Pippin could not claim any sort of expertise on judging the ages of predator species it did, in fact, look quite young. "Go home to your mama, little beast, I'm sure she has a tit waiting for you," he huffed callously, stamping his hoof again.