Lipizzaner
of fourteen years survived brought his sloth-like walk to a complete halt and raised his head to greet the other with silence. It was quite clear that the tobiano of bay was in charge. Everything about the darker stallion radiated with “I’m the head honcho here, the hell do you want?” If Le Blanc had considered himself one with a sense of humor, he might have been bold enough to laugh having seen the charade too many times before. Oh, but Le Blanc didn’t laugh or scoff. He didn’t back down or cower either. He simply remained standing, his empty, hollow ochre eyes staring directly back at the wolf-like stallion.

To other stallions, the nameless lead was quite intimidating,
undoubtedly. Those eyes – they seemed to burn right through to one’s very soul. His stance and demeanor, even his biting words, were fierce. This was certainly an intimidating stallion. And yet, it all fell flat upon Le Blanc for he was beyond apathetic – further than just broken: he was cadaverous, almost ethereal.

He cast his pitted gaze in the direction of the curious other lurking just beyond the frontal force. Youthful, probably stubborn and foolhardy – as most youths were prone to be. No further heed was made of the other. Attention remained focused upon the lead as Le Blanc reflected upon the bitter words.

Charity. Le Blanc wasn’t looking for any sense of philanthropy and half of him wanted to mention it to the nameless lead. Then again, a part of the pale stallion desired to simply turn his head in disregard and continue on his way – at his pace. Lastly, a fraction of Le Blanc wished to do nothing. To stand there and observed the predator.

And that’s what won.

Le Blanc kept his empty, hollow ochre eyes staring back at the wolf of a stallion as he remained perfectly motionless: unaffected.