The cry of a wild wolf reached his dark thorns and a lone grulla stallion turned to look toward the sound. His coat, slightly dusty already, though he had only arrived the night before, let off a dull gleam as he turned to face the sound. He stood alone at the top of the gorge, looking down on the natural runway. His clear, dark eyes scanned the pale, sunbleached stone to find the lupine creature who had howled. Truthfully it would be hard to find the source in a canyon that created multiple echoes but Argentine was sure he could find it with a little searching. Unless he had been mistaken, the sound had originated nearby.
Scanning the long stretch of stone, the stallion looked hard until his optics picked up the lone grey-brown form below. The wolf's pelt blended into the earth and the stallion was surprised he'd been able to spot the canine at all. With a minor sense of pride in his heart, Argentine turned and set off toward an easier slope. He couldn't scale these vertical, water-worn walls; his shod hooves needed a softer slope.

Finding a path down was a little tricky but eventually the grey stallion was making his way into the gorge. He would answer this wolf's call and if they saw eye-to-eye they would race through the gorge. Argentine's thoroughbred blood boiled at the thought of running against an opponent and he tossed his head proudly.

Reaching the bottom, the grulla stallion picked up a light, easy trot, showing off a little as was his custom. He didn't mean to but his owners had driven the lesson into his mind that he must be a graceful and elegant horse. He had been, after all, meant to be a professional showjumper like his sire and grandsire and great-grandsire before him, down the line to the beginning of his pedigree.
His loose gait took him within meters of the wolf when suddenly a golden vision exploded out in front of him, causing the stallion to slide to a quick stop as she stood there, looking around her as the portal closed behind her. She was a beautiful young thing but for the four long scars down her throat. What a wound those must have been....Argentine didn't envy her one bit the tragedy that had left her with those.

She looked around, scented the air, snorted a laugh. Her way of doing things in such a quiet manner was unusual to Argentine but not unlikeable. His friends and family at the barn had been taught to be very quiet so it was no true oddity to him.
She sprang toward the wolf without a word and Argentine knew she, like both males, wanted to race. He smirked, not cruelly, and continued forward, joining them where the wolf sat in the blustery gorge.
Greetings Lady mare and sir Wolf. he said with a smile I assume we gather here for the purpose of competition?
His vocals were a little formal, but then that was to be expected from a young stallion whose entire life had been spent with snobs. The horses were friendly but their way of life had been all pampering and snobbery from their owners; how could they not sound a little snobby themselves after that?