A harsh breath blows from his lungs as the rugged stallion looks down upon the desert lands from a high dune top. Paper thin nostrils flare as he allows his olfactory senses to sift through the various smells, searching for anything in particular that might pose a threat to his kingship. Twin harks remain alert amid the tangle of windswept caramel locks as dark auburn gaze sweeps one final time over the rolling desolate hills.

A desert was perhaps not the best pick for a herd land. Water was scares, found only in a single river that ran through the center of the lands. During the days, the waters were warm... very warm... but at night, aided by the cold air that chills the sands beneath the moon's light, it became almost frigid. A welcome relief from the day's heat. Here and there, spare trees with little shade offered some shelter from the scorching sands, and tufts of grass dared to grow between the rocky patches of sand where the desert winds could not hide them. Yes, the desert was not the most optimum place to live... but Rougaru liked it. The desert was harsh, demanding... and only the most cunning and hardy horses could make a living here.

A wolfish smile played upon his lips as the dark dragga thought on this last notion... only the best would thrive here... and the best would be what he wanted.... what he needed.

It was autumn here, and already the once green grasses tucked neatly beneath the sheltering palms and outstretches branches of the mesquite trees was already turning a dull yellow green, promising that soon as with the rest of their world, winter would be upon the deserts and only the hardiest of grazing would be found. A challenge he welcomed for this stallion was not unfamiliar with the desert hardships. Although for most of his life he has lived on great open plains, Rougaru spent time in the deserts bordering his father's land. When the old stallion had banished him from the herd, Rougaru roamed the rocky outcroppings and expansive desert, fending for himself and existing for he wasn't quite sure he could call his time there actually living. Surviving yes, but living... no. He had not made an attempt to steal mares from his father's band... he had not ventured far enough to find and battle for one of his own... he had simply spent day in and day out exploring what the deserts had to offer.

Looking down on his newly acquired home now, he was thrilled with the way things were going and determined that he would no longer simply exist... soon, very soon he would acquire his own mares... he would have this desolate land flourishing with life and young foals of HIS bloodline would grow up hardy and strong in these lands. Yes... it would happen.

For now, he simply gives a determined stomp and bends his head to graze on the desert grasses and shrubs growing in his little oasis. His time was coming... and he only wondered if the world was ready for it.