Soljor
Marines don't die. They go to hell and regroup.
He was a proud colt to say the least. His father once again ruled the Paradise and he was no longer a beggar prince. He was the son of O Melhor and his lead mare, Tallynne. He should hold his head up high and proudly announce his lineage to all. But, Soljor wasn't like that. It isn't that he didn't have the potential to be a vain stallion. Instead, it was because there was no one to play with or boast to. This left the colt with few options but to entertain himself by prancing about the shores of Paradise waiting for something interesting to happen.
As it was, the painted son of O Melhor and Tallynne was taking a bit after his sire. He didn't have his mother's bulk,though he shared her white pattern. His body was slender and young - his neck was long and arched when he pulled it up. He stepped high so as not to get too much sand in his feathering. Though, these were little more than tuffs of hair over the top of his hooves. He was still small, but he was getting bigger.
He snorted and folded his ears at a few gulls that dared to settle on his path. In his mind, these were not merely birds - they were intruders on his territory. Rogue stallions trying to rob him of his home (mares had not yet entered the fantasy). With his best imitation of his father's bugle, he charged the offending creatures scattering them with ease. He chased after them for a few yards and hollered. He dared them to return and fight like a stallion - but none answered. Satisfied, for the moment, that he had won, he returned to his vigilant patrol.
He was a young colt. And this was his playground.
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