He stood like a great, black dragon biding in the shadows, the plumes of his hot breath swirling in the frigid air the surrounded him. The cold wind pressed at his skin though it caused the trees to groan, he endured it silently. Something about the harshness of winter had always appealed to him. It’s unforgiving nature weeding out the weak from the strong – the sheer weight of the cold choking out the life it enveloped. There could be no mistakes in winter.

If he were a season, Ceolwulf would be winter.

The black of her skin distracted him, like a black hole against the stark white of the lagoon, sucking his attention into her. Her dark figure now stood where he had once looked upon the semi-frozen waters of the lagoon. The cold had chilled his muscles and given him little motivation to engage or chase her off, so he chose to ignore her. For a few moments he thought it might work, but she ruined his view by buzzing around his field of vision like a gnat around a pile of excrement.

Apparently nobody else was going to claim her or move her along.

With a disgruntled snort, he pushed off the tree he had been leaning on, and stepped lazily from his shadowy den. His yellow eyes trailed over the mare’s body, calculating her worth to the lagoon. Would she be worth keeping around to trade? Would any stallions actually want to trade for her? She looked young, though certainly not still a filly - that would work in the lagoon’s favour. Some of the older band stallions could be put off by mares that were still very young – perhaps they viewed them like breeding with their daughters. Ceolwulf didn’t give a damn about their reasons so long as the lagoon got what they wanted. The mare in front of him was of the perfect age for a brood mare, and looked to be a purebred to boot! Perhaps they could ask for more for this one.

“Such a shame, another little bird blown off course by winter” he mused softly with a wry smirk. While he kept his the main bulk of his body out of her reach, he extended his muzzle to her in greeting with no fear of her striking out. ”Do you have a name, little bird?”

XY . IBERIAN MUTT . BLACK . EE aa nPrl . 15.2 HH
Styrke x Solveig