Common

Cullen would never truly know what happened to Panzer; the reason he was this way—no one would. But if the tapestry of scars scattered across his bay roan coat were any indication, the Lagoon boss wouldn’t have to guess and neither would anyone else. The endless torture that he’d endured as a child and throughout his life as a lone stallion was literally unspeakable.

He barked that he didn’t take kindly to his rudeness, snapping back at him with more useless, empty words. In attempting to drive him toward this Lagoon—no doubt a place where he was cock of the block—Panzer stopped again, his larger frame standing unmoving once more. He grunted, flicking his black tail as though the golden male were nothing more than a fly accosting him.

One large, brown eye rolled back toward Cullen as he bumped him once more, and Panzer pinned his ears again as the other male continued pressing him. Without hesitation, the draft kicked out, lifting his hindquarters off the ground in a single motion and striking toward the other stallion with one of his large, feathered hind hooves closest to Cullen, further escalating the situation.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so insistent, continually bumping against him, Panzer may have continued to amble stoically onward. If he had accepted the draft’s lack of acknowledgement as anything besides indifferent compliance, they might not be engaged in blows. But no, he pressed his luck, more than likely driven by the status he’d afforded himself. Thus, Panzer had no other recourse when it came to dealing with haughty, annoying creatures. This was the only language he knew and that anyone else could understand—violence. He was not afraid of Cullen, his status, or his threats. They meant very little to someone who had absolutely nothing to lose.


PANZER