As the scars from one battle begin to fade, Vodnik finds ways to acquire more. Adrenaline courses through his veins from the thrill of the fight and the sweet taste of victory. He cries out, bellowing harsh chords of triumph, but he hears no response. He sees no one, and smells nothing but himself and the mess he's made.

Where are his mares?

The draft stallion sets out at a bold trot. His neck is arched and his low-set tail held as high as it might. He's looking for anyone to gloat to, or perhaps a mare in heat as a sweet reward for a job well done and a territory well protected. Vodnik doesn't smell the stranger. But how can he through his own stink?

Vodnik is nearly dripping with sweat. His coat is already long in preparation for winter and it now clings damp to this sides. The musk of his own body odor is strong, but not nearly as strong as the stink of blood. The bay stallion wears the open wounds across his right cheek, and the deep gouges on his chest like a badge of honor. He is covered in blood. His front is wet with it, and his white markings and feathers are streaked with it. Not all of it is his own. Under the organic scents of blood and sweat lingers a hint of decay and the musk of bear.

The stallion relies heavily on his sense of smell. He's not aware of how much the stink of battle blinds this sense until is trek up the shoreline reveals the figure of a stranger standing stark against the horizon. The sight of such catches Vodnik by surprise. He surges forth, extending his stride. Heavy hooves drum the announcement of his approach. His neck is arched, and his ears disappear under volumes of tangled, black mane. His nostrils wrinkle and his eyes roll in an impressive display of aggression.

Vodnik stops abruptly before the stranger and mutters in his rumbling voice. "You better have a good explanation for being here." He tosses his forelock from his eyes and levels a sharp gaze with the stranger. "I've killed once today and I'll do it again." Truthfully, Vodnik is exhausted. As soon as the excitement from earlier begins to fade, his legs will tremble, and his wounds will pain him severely. He knows he's in no position to battle. This is the only reason he didn't charge the stranger right away, but he'll talk the talk and put on a brave face for the sake of defending what's his by intimidation alone.