My attention is snatched by movements nearby, slithers of a dark equine peeking through the scrub.

I abandon the well-trodden path that is leading me to the Commons and begin to snake through the wild tangle of trees towards the foreigner and the shore on which he stands. His coat, the colour of shiny shadows, looks as if it has shrunk around his bony frame with jutting hipbones and the slanting pattern of ribs making him appear almost ghastly. Although practically pointless given the noise and commotion my staunch physique is causing as I bulldoze through the terrain, I announce my approach with a short and heavy snicker.

”You look a tad hungry mate” I note, snapping the last remaining branches in my way with my beefy shoulders before stepping onto the warm sands. The white-crested stag is just as tall as me, which only adds to his drawn, cadaverous appearance. ”There’s good eating to be had further in.” I gesture briefly towards the heart of the Lagoon and watch for his reaction before speaking again, ”You know the way?” It is a subtle way of asking if this brilliantly blue-eyed man has been here before, and depending on his reaction I will be able to gauge his reason for being here, without appearing dominant or aggressive- traits no soon-to-be Boss can afford to have.

Bloody politics and its popularity contest.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS