The morning was still young when the red stallion awoke, lifting his chin from his knees and staring quietly beyond the branches that sheltered him as he slept. That night, he had barely slept, finding that his dreams were loud and somewhat intrusive for once, making the moments that he did fall asleep few and far in between. For the most part, he had spent the night thrashing about in his hovel in the trees, his red skin slick with sweat and his eyes rolling back in his head out of terror and discomfort.

Eventually he decided it was best to leave the comfort of his den that he had taken residence of; stretching out his legs and standing with his head stooped so as to keep his ears from getting tangled in the branches and the leaves, it takes a moment to stand before leaving his hiding place. The air around him was still and the sky was still stained with the lightest of purples from the dawn that was still falling way to the day that was ahead. Standing outside his little den, the stallion lifts his nose to sniff at the air, feeling the softest of breezes brushing against his face. There was nothing out of place about the air, and once Vercingetorix did one full circle of his home to be certain, he would move on to carry out some business.

It did not take him long to follow his own well-walked trail of his home, jogging lazily along it as he breathes in the air and flicks his ears to and fro, looking for anything out of place. Having found nothing by the end of his turn about the forest, he turns to the west suddenly and makes for the prairies.

Stepping into the tall grasses of the prairie was a rather unwelcome memory. The grasses brushed against his knees, and if he stood there long enough, he swore that he could smell Myrcella on the horizon, as though she had stuck around once he had left her. Perhaps she was one of the few mares that he did not hate while he had stayed in this land of singing grasses, and perhaps she was also the reason that he had been driven out of his home so soon after he had decided that he wanted to stay. Instead he had returned, this time with a more stern look across his face, and not stinking of the mares in the forest. He smelt of pines and hard woods, like grass and the forest- the grip that the prairie had once had over him was now gone, and he was free.

Standing at the edge of the strangely familiar terrain, the stallion bows his head down to let the tall grasses brush against his face for a moment or two, reminding him of his time here. Vercingetorix enjoys the grass for a few moments before lifting his head and letting out a horsey bellow, calling for the stallion that had appeared in his own home not too long ago.