12-12-2007, 01:50 AM
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indent Scotland. Part of the small island group that he had heard of from Rurik, from Bowie, from strangers whose names had faded away with the wash of time. It was another name, another place, and it meant nothing. The stranger explained his reasoning behind the curious little horse, and Ahren nodded at the words. It made sense to him, in his experience. Tugging the rifle strap and adjusting the weight of the crossbow on his back, the red-eyed man spoke with a faint and unhappy smile. “I used to. When I left I couldn’t be sure I would be able to care for a horse and myself, so my cousin kept her for me.”
indent Backtracking, he responded to the issue of breeding. “Yeah, he and his family are apparently well known for it. They’re based out of Ireland and London; the Eachan’s.” Did he really expect this stranger to know the name? No. Still, it was friendly conversation. “Though when my family moved over there the business spread to France.”
indent Backtracking, he responded to the issue of breeding. “Yeah, he and his family are apparently well known for it. They’re based out of Ireland and London; the Eachan’s.” Did he really expect this stranger to know the name? No. Still, it was friendly conversation. “Though when my family moved over there the business spread to France.”