stallion | yearling | arabian mutt | red roan | 14.3 hh | the lagoon | rade x fatalé

Léon made many an attempt at conversation on the trip back to the shoreline. But the black mare was rather… unresponsive. It was a bit annoying so after the first few minutes, he accepted the silence. And it was in the silence that Ceowulf’s words came back to him. He wanted to be a thief and here he was on another island with a mare and no reigning stallion.

An idea began to form and had the black mare looked back she would have seen a devilish gleam in his amber eyes. Lion eyes, predatory ones. Slowly, his red ears slip under a red mane. The shoreline comes into view, moonlight on it’s surface. The black mare came to a stop and looked at him.

He drove forward then, head low in a herding position. His ears were buried in his mane and his steps were high. He didn’t speak a word. He didn’t demand she keep moving.

He was going to chase her to the Lagoon and prove himself a brother to them. So help him God. He’d come here for information. He’d found something much sweeter.