The Lagoon is dead, as is Kasabian. But me, I am very much alive.

My hooves dig savagely into the Earth as I gallop towards the source of a vaguely familiar scent, my murky eyes narrowing as a figure is birthed on the shadowy horizon. The Lagoon has been an awfully lonely place as of late, a lack of brothers has given my once thriving home and desolate feeling and I am eager to welcome this new comer in a hope that he will be one of the many stallions I recruit to bring strength back to the bachelor herd. Slowing to a trot I call out to the painted man, a stern but nonaggressive look contorts my features. ”Welcome” I offer as I close in.

I have met a countless amount of men within these boarders and though I do not pretend to remember them all, I do trust my intuition when familiarity tickles at my brain. Through the darkness casts by the thick blanket of clouds overhead, I come to a pause and try to place where in my history I would have met this two-toned stud. ”Name’s Fallo, what can I d-..” I stop midsentence, confusion flashing momentarily across my face as I look into the brutes familiar golden orbs. ’Felony?’ even as the thought crosses my mind I know it is wrong. This is not Felony, but those are his eyes.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS