The plan was not established for long-term use.
The lagoon was only supposed to be a stopover, a safe haven for a weary loner to lay his head. It was a thing to be used and abused until I no longer needed it but as time has progressed so too has my admiration for the brotherhood and their mission. I once poked fun at these bachelors, I saw them as weak and wrongly made the assumption that they must dwell together simply because they weren’t strong enough for the pressures of herd life or self-reliant enough for solitude. I am now a part of these ‘weak’ stallions I once scoffed at and I am proud to call them my brothers. Well, at least some of them.

Walking through my home I embrace the chilled wind that curls its fingers around me. Upon its back I catch the scent of a stranger and with a howl I pivot and double back on my tracks before leaping into a three beat gait towards the source. My large hooves bite at the earth and my black feathered pillars gather the left overs, mud and twigs gathering in my already mangled locks. Just as the pounding within my chest becomes audible within my ears I am able to lay my dark eyes on an even darker figure that doesn’t appear to have come alone.

”Oi” I yell over the remaining meters as I gear down into a brisk walk while an arrogant smirk becomes friendly with my maw. I spy a woman and her words catch in my towers prompting my tongue to wiggle without consent as I come to a stand before the stallion. ”Or maybe it is just its occupants he has grown tired of” I say dismissively to the Peak dweller without turning my eye upon her. ”Do you have business here?” I ask the silvery stud, my tone somewhat defensive given the season we stand in.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS