[Leafies]

Roark's herd had never been particularly territorial. They resided by one of the major rivers that flowed through the land, known as one of the more peaceful herds among the others. They were spiritual and kept to their own, and thus they'd done their absolute best to stray from the violent territory wars that had been happening as of late; they'd blocked off their land from the other roaming herds, a fairly small area they'd been certain no one would really want to take, but the peace hadn't lasted long before Roark's herd was overtaken and within a matter of hours their land by the river had been destroyed - homes were in ruin and herd members scrambled and separated in the midst of the turmoil. Roark found himself confused and unsure of where to run, and while he wasn't looking, he'd been clean knocked unconscious by an enemy centaur.

He'd been awake for awhile now, laying idly in the cell he'd been placed in and nursing the wound he'd sustained to his head. Geez, they couldn't have been a bit softer? Roark was under average size, smaller than most centaurs but definitely not weak... or so that's what he liked to believe. Roark was really missing the river back home; his spotted coat was mucky and dark with dried dirt. He'd been sure he was the only one here (he couldn't see anyone else) but then a voice was calling out to him and Roark shifted a bit on his side, surprised to see another centaur with him. He could tell the other wasn't of his herd and his tail flicked in annoyance. "Mind keeping it down?" Roark hissed, pressing a hand to his eyes at the throbbing in his injured temple. "I thought I was the only one here. Are you... being held too?"