Vodnik often finds himself wanting, but never in his life has a desire consumed him so completely as this. He sees flashes of her copper coat in every ray of sunlight streaming through the trees, and hears her approach with every whisper in the brush. Visions of Macabre will haunt haunt his dreams and stir the dragons in his chest until the day she is securely by his side. There is only one obstacle standing in his way, and that obstacle is Ailill.

Vodnik issues the challenge with a battle cry. The roar of his voice breaks the silence on a clear night. The starlight sets the shoreline aglow just beyond the reaches of his own territory. A chill breeze sweeps in off the ocean, the first taste of winter. Low tide leaves a distinctly fishy smell hanging in the autumn air.

This stallion is an imposing mass of sinew and bone. He stands a towering 17.2 hands tall, and contours of his well-muscled and well-fleshed body are highlighted under the stars. Vodnik exudes confidence in his stance. He stands square upon wet sands littered with broken shells, pebbles and other debris. His neck is arched and muscles bulge, taught and ready for battle. His ears turn, listening for Ailill's approach, and his nostrils flare with excitement. His heart races, not with fear, but with the thrill of an impending fight.