Honeyed Pasture entolés poréas ⚔

He did not tower over the grass so much as sink in to it, for even at his full height the centaur was a pit of warm blackness flanked on all sides by stalks of gold.
The other man was similar; wiry in places where he himself was stalwart, but near enough to be a brother. Gold crowned his neck and shoulders - which could have been a trick of the light for how brief Orthaon glimpsed him.
Those sharp eyes, hawkish.
He knew the expression well. The look of a man with a quest, a missing charge. Orthaon swings his attention along with the roving body and calls out, knowingly:
Whom have you lost?