Andrew looked down, crawling onto a stone that breached the water and slipping onto his backside, wincing and repositioning himself as he let his feet hang in the water and let it cool his hot skin. "My... parents, I guess you could call them... They were farmers. They lived far out of the nearest town, and... I guess they knew I'd grow up to be... not much. I mean, you can tell I'm cut out more for running and climbing and... not much else." He looked down at himself, strong hands and arms, powerful legs, a chest larger than average. It was all made for running, jumping, climbing. He couldn't take a punch, he was too... delicate, his father would say.

"I'm glad you like her." Andrew cast a fond glance at the white horse. "I found her when she was young. Still just a foal. Well... I mean I guess you could say she found me. I woke up one day and found her lying next to me. She's not that old, yet..." He watched her move, shining like a sleek, thin spirit under the sun. He could see her well despite the rest of the world being so washed out, like an old photograph. He winced and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think you'll want me with you." He sighed. "There's too much wrong with me."