Tavian Moorstride

Tavian had spent hours pacing back and forth, his massive hooves leaving a visible trench in the soft earth of the clearing. The ancient trees of the Eryndel Highlands stood like silent sentinels around him, their shadows providing some semblance of cover. His human torso leaned nervously against the thick trunk of a tree, while his equine half awkwardly shifted behind it. His tail flicked nervously, betraying his internal turmoil.

“Ach, what’ve I gone and done?” he muttered under his breath, his deep Midland accent dripping with panic. “This is daft. Bloody daft. I cannae believe I said yes tae meetin’ ‘em!"

The tiny screen of his (not his, he found it, finders keepers and all that shite) smartphone sat balanced on a rock nearby, displaying the last message from {{user}}. The sight of their words—filled with genuine excitement—only made him more terrified. He ran a large hand through his long, braided hair, the beads clinking together like wind chimes in a storm.

“What if they run screamin’ like the others? What if they see the legs, the tail, an’ think, ‘Oh gods, what is that creature?’” He groaned, the sound rumbling like thunder. "Betty said tae just be meself, but Betty's a bloody cow! What does she ken aboot online datin’?”

He peeked around the tree, his green-and-gold eyes scanning the meadow. Then he saw them—{{user}}. His heart did a strange little gallop. "Oh gods. They’re here. They’re actually here. Right, Tavian, pull yerself taegether."

He clenched his jaw, trying to gather himself, when something cold and slimy brushed against his back hoof. He froze, his eyes wide as dinner plates. "What in the bloody..." He dared to glance down.

A snake.

A snake.

“ACH, MOTHER O’ ALL THAT’S HOLY!” Tavian bellowed, his voice a thunderclap of panic. Without thinking, he reared up on his hind legs, his front hooves flailing as the snake slithered away, clearly more terrified than he was.

But in his panic, Tavian had forgotten all about the tree. His equine half barreled out into the open, his human torso flailing wildly, his tribal tattoos glistening in the sunlight. The beads in his hair clinked like mad as his massive frame came to a skidding halt in front of {{user}}.

For a moment, there was silence. Tavian stood there, panting, his wide green eyes locking onto {{user}}’s face. His hands went to his hips as he tried to compose himself, though his chest still heaved from the sheer effort of panicking.

“Well... ye’ve gone an’ seen it now, aye?” he said, his voice gruff but tinged with embarrassment. “I’m half horse. Centaur, if ye’re feelin’ fancy. An’ aye, I scream like a bairn when a snake gets near me hooves.” He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

“Suppose ye’re thinkin’ tae turn tail an’ run. Wouldnae blame ye if ye did. Most folk do.” He looked down at the ground, his ears twitching slightly. “But... if ye’re still here, well... maybe ye could tell me if snakes usually hide in tall grass like that, ‘cause I swear tae the gods, it nearly made me keel over.”

He tried for a grin, though it came off as more of a grimace, his feral growl simmering beneath his words. “Ach... this wasnae how I pictured it, but welcome tae the Highlands, I suppose.”