[.x.]A bitter cold breeze blows mercilesly over the barren terrain, sweeping aside the sparse grasses with ease. Dark grey clouds hurry across the sky, spurred on by the relentless gusting of the air. Tucking his crown against this harsh breeze, Lorien looks upon the lands with dark chocolate visionaries, taking in the scene with no emotion in his opticals. Ambling boredly forwards, the dark bay brujo shakes his curvature roughly, throwing his long forelock from his orbs, where it has been irritating him for a while. Ebonite dagger placed carefully in front of his frame, the czar prcks his auds attentively, knowing that these lands can sometimes be extremely dangerous for an equine venturing out on their own. But that doesn't faze him. He has been alone for as long as he can remember- his dam having abandoned him in the lands of the Torn when he was just a mere coltine, and still depended on her for milk. After finding a surrogate mother until he was just old enough to survive on grass, the czar then proceeded to start his own life in the unclaimed lands of this place. Not really fond of socialising, and slightly shy when it comes to meeting other equines, Lorien has kepy to himself mostly during his life, preferring to keep his head down than to follow the endless battles and skirmishes of two feuding alliances.

Suddenly, a scent comes to him on the breeze. One that is not familiar. Jerking up his crown suspicious, a doubtful snort emmited from his librims, the czar growls softly, wondering who the devil is out here. Straining his orbs, feeling them sting as the bitter wind rushes past them, the brujo shakes his crown roughly, frustrated that he cannot see who is approaching him. Passing the decomposing caracass of what he suspects is a dead leopard (the flesh was hardly distinguishable but for a faint patch of blood stained yellow and black pelt), Lorien shifts his haunches slightly anxiously, hoping that the newcomer did not have malicious intentions. [.x.]

Drama walked with her head down, she was going with the wind. She had scares and cuts from other equines. The sand that was blowing into her cuts making them sting, she wanted to lay down and just give up. She herd the sound and saw the shape of another equine not to fare away. She lifted her crown , her orbs looking. She knew not what this other equine was side was, she gave a nickered "What side are you?" she asked. Waiting for a reply, she stopped far enough away just in case she needed to run. She never took her orbs off the other equine, not matter how much the winds made her eyes burn.

[.x.]Blinking slightly and shaking his cran as another ferocious gust blows hundred of sharp sand particles into his orbs, Lorien looks up slightly to see the slender figurine of another equine. A femme. Taking a step forward slighly, nares recognising the scent of this vix to the one has had been so wary of moments earlier. Breathing out a sigh of relief from his nares as he realises what little threat a femme is to him, Lorien too advances slowly up to the vixen, dark chocolate orbs looking upon her with interest. Pools running over her frame with interest, he is suprised to see grazes, cuts and lacerations covering her frame. How did she get those injuries? As the bruja slowly ambles toward him, and raises her crown, the brujo mirrors her actions, slowly arching his cerebrum so his thick, wavy tresses cascade down his nape in a strangely handsome manner. Auds barely hearing her vocals over the screeching winds, Lorien parts his librims, answering the femme in his usual slow, almost distant tones.

"Side? I show allegiance to no one. Their petty squabbles are of no importance to me. Let them slaughter themselves if they want to - there is no place in it for me. Although, if I were pushed to name one alliance I liken myself to , I suppose it would be the Torn. And you?" he asks, voice slighly hoarse from months of keeping to himself.[.x.]

"My side is torn, as well." she said looking at him, she turned her head to lick a couple of her cuts and then her orbs turned back to the equine. Her orbs looked over his frame, not knowing what to do next all she would do is watch. Her black coat had soaked red spots, she never knew the care of another equine let alone her mother. She thought of her dreadful past, but quickly snapped out of it, and her orbs went back to the equine. "My name is Drama, what is yours?" she asked waiting for a reply.

[.x.]Dipping his crown slightly to show he has heard her vocals, Lorien blinks and chooses to remain silent. Watching with slight concern as the femme turns to nurse some of her horrendous wounds, the dark bay masculine looks to her with an enquiring intention clear within his intelligent visionaries, silently asking her where those wounds came from. Following the gaze of the bruja as it slows slips from him, the czar clears his throat quietly, and then watches as it quickly returns to him. Wondering why the devil the bruja was so nervous of him, Lorien offers her a brief smile, flickering upon his librims for but a moment before his usual emotionless facade sets in yet again. The fae speaks again, Lorien has to yet again move closer to her to catch what she is saying. Suddenly, he advances a little too far, and his soft velveteen brushes that of the bruja he now knows as Drama. Withdrawing his mug quickly, feeling a slight tingling sensation where his maw has brushed her scarred pelt, the brujo looks to the femme apologetically, feeling his dial turn hot as an awkward silence passes over them. Thinking frantically of something to say, the czar suddenly recalls her earlier question as to his identity. Parting his librims slightly, the brute finds he has to almost shout over what is almost turning into a sandstorm upon the plains.

"I was charmed Lorien by my dam - at least I think it was my dam who named me. 'Tis a pleasure to meet ye Drama," he says, inclining his crown politely to the 'ess as he mentions what a pleasure it is to meet her. Falling silent yet again, Lorien looks to the femme, auds pricked for her reply.[.x.]