A bright blue sky and a sunny hot day greeted the horse and it’s rider as they traversed the sandy-shores of the shattered coast. They were right on the edge of the coast, the southern most part where the grass was white and few in number, the sand a golden brown and the sea a turquoise blue. The horse’s hooves made barely a dent in the hot sand as they cantered, on an upbeat, smooth rhythm. It was a warm day for winter, and it was nice because Frodo and Strider were very much used to warmth, and comfortable in the heat. Frodo especially preferred warmer, sunny climates. And after leaving home for so long, there was no better way for him to celebrate his return then a day at the beach. It was a one-off day though, the wolf knew that. Soon winter would come and it would be endless, black days and nights.

They changed course, moving closer to the sea. The Arabian’s hooves splashed through the water as he kept up a steady canter, sending sprays of foam up behind him. Strider then broke into a gallop, his mane and tail flying behind him and shimmering brightly in the sun; his nostrils flared, hooves pounding through the short waves, head tossed as he gathered speed.

They were alive, and free, and fierce, and beautiful.

The glistening, white, equine form moved gracefully through the salty ocean waters, hooves propelling him onwards. After all they had been through, galloping on a beach for Frodo and Strider had to be the best feeling in the world. They could forget their troubles, and loose concentration on purpose. Eventually, the fun had to end though, for everyone got tired. The luperci drew his horse back, slower and slower until they were at a gentle trot, and then he leapt off the horse. They were not carrying anything with them; that was all left behind. Strider had no bride today, no saddle. He was directed with silent communication from his rider, a nudge here, a squeeze there.

Frodo leapt off the horse and sat down in the sand, breathing heavily. It took a lot to have a luperci on your back while galloping, but it also took effort riding. He let his horse trot around by itself for a while; Frodo trusted Strider not to run off. The male sat with his back to the rest of the coast and his eyes to the sea, watching the waves collapse and collide with each other. He fingered the ring-on-a-chain at his neck, and tucked it under the green bandana that also tied around his neck. Just for safekeeping, so nobody saw it. The curly furred, black and auburn male blinked transulsant green eyes in the blinding sun, and took off the heavy satchel that had some neccecities in it. Apart from the satchel, all he had with him were the clothes on his back (a light brown shirt, a cloak of olive green) and the bow and quiver on his shoulder.
He shook some water off his lower body that had managed to find it’s way into his fur, and then he was singing softly, a familiar song that had been his friend for a long time. He was alone, and so he could sing it freely, without interuption or inception.

He drew patterns in the sand with one slender finger, tilting the grains this way and that into fluent patterns that drizzled over one another. Frodo sighed and shifted his weight, scrunching up his paws into balls so that the sand would run through his fingers, damp and luxurious in texture. He could probably sit there for hours, playing with the sand to keep him preoccupied, and watching the sea. But, of course, he had a duty, and a mission in life, like most. He was not one to let his life waste away and his years pass him by, by wasting time sitting on a beach. And so that was why, when close-by hoof beats sounded through the wind, he did not simply ignore them and fall victim to the beach’s longing grasp. He sat up, despite not wanting to, and turned his curly-furred, flower and feather covered head. There was a lady there, on a well-built steed. Not so much of a lady, but more of a girl.

Curiously, he took in her slight, tiny frame and odd markings, especially the sweet yellow-orange ones on her face. She couldn’t be much younger than him, perhaps even older, but all the same one thing came to mind when looking at her. She was adorably cute. Not in the way he wanted to take her as a mate, but the sort of way that he’d want to smother her in a bear hug. He pushed away these rather rude thoughts bashfully, and stood up, swiping sand from his hands, pelt, and clothing. With a jolt he realized she had a fawn in her arms as she leapt from her mule, and he grinned. Even more amused was he when the mule kissed the fawns head in an attempt to surpass it’s quivers and shakes. Frodo then looked up, realising he was being spoken to. Nope, not interuptin’ anythin’. We‘ve been here no more than a jiffy. he responded to her odd accent. Wow, there were lots of odd accents he’d encountered the past couple of days. The one she spoke in, however, was one he had no heard before.

When she then proceeded to ask him to lunch, he was rather taken aback. It was an odd request to ask a stranger, an especially bold request to ask to a male stranger, but if she was inviting him into her home willingly, he could not refuse. Perhaps if he was feeling more cautious, he would have suspected trickery behind the innocent offer, but he was tired, and hungry, and lunch sounded enticing. That’s very nifty of you to ask, lil’ miss Chirion. Mmhm, I hope your lunch is finger-lickin’ good, ‘cause I’m there, you got me? he offered a grin, and a tail wag. I’m Frodo. The shrimp’s Strider. he looked over his shoulder to see the white stallion curiously watching from a distance. Frodo turned back his head now, and looked straight over the girls shoulder. If you don’t mind my askin’, what’s a wee girl like yourself doing out here alone, anyways? And where’s this lunch you talk about? he’d noticed she didn’t have much with her, or on her. Just the fawn, looking startled looking beneath her legs. And the mule by her side. The youth proceeded to pull an apple from his satchel - he had saved it for Strider - and he broke it in half, offering one half to the fawn and the other to the mule. He had no doubt the mule would take it, few equines could resist such treats, but the shivering fawn looked like it had no place with others, not trusting to say the least.

This girl seemed to be just a little bit bonkers, thought Frodo to himself. Bonkers was good though. She giggled like a baby bird and danced around on the spot, and this made Frodo smile like he hadn’t done in a while. He nodded to the cute little femme, unsure what to say that didn’t involve the word adorable until she spoke to him, and then he knew how to answer. Heh, heh. I hope that’s true, skipper. he grinned, with a brief but sure wag of his tail. He felt at ease, and was content. Ah, that I will. ‘Though the mucker might not like bein’ taken off the beach so soon, you get me? Frodo cast a sideways glance, and watched as Strider tensed up from his position on the wet sands. The wolf only grinned, looking towards the stallion while tapping his nose with a finger knowingly.

Frodo looked up to where Chione pointed, over the hill. He couldn’t make out any sort of settlement just for the minute, but only time would tell when they finally arrived. The explanation the little femme gave him made sense to Frodo when she gave it him, and Mr Silvertongue grinned and nodded, still raising an eyebrow or two though, despite that. Trader, huh? more of a statement or rhetorical question was the comment, and did not require an answer. However, Frodo half wondered in his mind if that meant they would be doing business after lunch. Could be a alternative.

As predicted, Mora quickly snapped up the treat in her muzzle wheras the deer was cautious and frightened. Frodo was impressed when Chione said something in what he could only identify as low speech, immensely impressed when the fawn understood, and slowly began to tear away at the half-apple. Frodo couldn’t speak nor understand low speech, and that was the way it would be… he was very bad at learning languages, despite having picked up little ditty’s on his travels. He’d sort of created his own language, and accent to go with it, rather than learn a ready-made one.

Still grinning ear to ear, Frodo danced away once he was sure that Lu had eaten up his fill. The man approached Strider, calling for his horse. The white stallion hesitated but soon stooped to his masters qualms, and the authoritive presence got the better of him. Frodo smiled, and leapt upon the horse without a word, very used to mounting and riding bareback. Thattaway, Strider! the man whooped, feeling the horse rear beneath him before galloping after Chione on her own steed.