Acheron ran through the forest, ignoring the brambles that snagged his tail and the various scrapes he encountered with branches and vines. It was when he was running that he felt truly free. It also helped him to clear his head and calm the anger he harbored.
He splashed through the shallows of the river at the forests edge, coming to a halt near the female centaur he'd only at that moment taken notice of. She was unfamiliar to him. Had he been so wrapped up in his own pursuits that he had lost touch with those around him? Probably, he mused.
"Good even'," he called to her, nodding his head politely, his hair masking his angular face briefly. His head raised, his eyes met hers in open curiosity. "I am Acheron. Who, may I ask, are you?" His voice was a deep tenor, rusty with disuse and perhaps from his angry yelling over the years.