"Of me?" Morgan looked over at the beast, "I'm sure they must have me confused with some other devastatingly attractive warrior. Or you do. In which case, I have to ask if his sword is as big as mine is."

Morgan nudged the horse again, chuckling. "Where'd they chase you to?" He frowned then, "Wait. Did you bring them here?"

You still smell of death and steel the horse remarked, ears folding backwards at the mention of the sword. And they spoke in stance and not in words.

He shrugged his head, looking back towards the ocean. Brought nothing. Came alone. The Horse Lords sends his regards.

Morgan smiled almost bitterly. "Well, at least I haven't changed too much, then." He hooked a thumb on his belt where he normally kept his sword. But he'd gone out for a walk on the beach and most turtles you could just kick away.

"What kind of soft were they? Bones and flesh? Or more like the stomach when you split it?"

He reflected for a moment that it probably said a lot about him that he could get back into this kind of question and answer with the dead horse.

Hell, it probably said just as much that he travelled, at times, with a dead horse while a very hungry magic-eating sword slept in his veins. Fuck, but his life had got complicated somewhere along the way. "And I send mine back."