He offers his name before biting into more than just the grass.

I allow the skinny Teke his moment of dominance and acknowledge the question matter-of-factly, ”Well Zenith, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” I don’t join him in his meal; instead I position myself off to his near side, keeping both him and the clearing in my steely-eyed gaze. Prior to fighting off death and infection rather dramatically on the island of Atlantis, I had been hopping from island to island in search of stragglers to recruit into our empty ranks. If I am honest I found a lot more than I bargained for, but I am not prepared to divulge this to the bony brute before me.

”Tell me, won’t you, what you plan to do while sustaining yourself here?” I shift the focus back onto him and the gob full of salty Lagoon grass that would be working its way towards his stomach. The Lagoon needs our support and I assume by his questioning that this brute, in some way, cares about my home. I respect that, but I don’t have time to waste proving my loyalty to a man that might only be here to regain his strength.

The low rumble of a summer storm echoes on the horizon and I feel a tingling in my legs, an urging to beat the weather to the shores of Luthien. I need the support of more soldiers and the leverage of more mares, so I will visit each terrain and either recruit some new blood or steal it.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS