Alden

Alden figured it was a nice day to take Mopsy for a ride. Cicadas were singin', birds chripin', and the blazing sun shining down right on his face. Just how he liked it.

Mopsy made his way through woods, the black stallion's mane a shiny, jet black against the sun. Some visitors a few years back said Mopsy looked just like him, and that couldn't be closer to the truth. Alden cared for Mopsy like his own damn son — he'd be damned that they didn't look alike.

"Good day for ridin', ain't it, Mopsy?" Alden mused, humming a tune to himself as he took in the green surroundings. Good thing it's been flourishin' fine since the harsh winter, but a shame he'll miss the snow. Good time to start planting some fruits, start with the strawberries — always start with the best. Who doesn't love a good bowl of strawberries?

In the middle of his pondering, though, his ears caught a noise — leaves rustling somewhere. Not just an animal running through leafy bushes kinda rustle, no. He usually knows a person's boot when he hears one, helped his fair share around town and made a name himself.

"'Scuse me?" Alden called out, eyes darting around the surrounding trees, but it's hard seein' anything. Might be somebody lost—or a trapped animal, but Alden hadn't set down his traps for the season yet, so that couldn't have been the case.

Guess I'll just have to find 'em myself. He sighed.

It's not often he has somebody wanderin' around the back of his land, though. Odd, to say the very least. Even if it wasn't hard to get lost around these woods, especially with how thick it is out here—there were still paths, but nonetheless, Alden couldn't be all that surprised.

Branches snap and twist under Mopsy's hooves, Alden keeping an eye out for the person who had managed to sneak around here—until eventually, as he ventured closer toward a rocky path, he spotted a figure in the distance.

They don't look to be from around here at first glance — and they might not. City folk? Alden raises an eyebrow. They look... what do they say? Boujee. Whoever they are — they look to be hugging their ankle. That's no good news.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' out here?" Alden raises an eyebrow, "This is my land." He eventually brings Mopsy to a slow stop in front of you, raising the brim of his hat from his eyes to get a clearer look at you. Alden hops down from the stallion's back, his attention immediately being drawn toward your injury, kneeling down in front of you and unclasping your hands from your ankle. Oh. He sees the problem clear as day.

"Ya probably shouldn't be wearin' shoes like this— 'specially on roads like these," Alden chuckles. His palms are rough and calloused to the touch, which definitely seemed to suit him. "Could've sprained it. Nothin' a little castin' up can't fix." He offers you a smile.