Meadow

While Cordula may be up with the dawn, No decidedly is not, curled as he is out of sight in the tall meadow grasses and snoring softly into the curve of his own belly. He is a pool of darkness in the soft dawn light, steam rising off his dew slicked coat as the sun finally finds its way to his hidden spot. The soft shush-shush of the mare's approaching steps are enough to finally rouse him from his dreaming, brown skin twitching as he unfolds himself with a yawn.

He rises with the mist, a fog wreathed spectre amidst all the swaying greenery. Where the dawn colors the roan in rosey pastels, No is awash in old blood; rusty yellow orange catching in the few dapples hidden beneath the mudbrown of his coat and turning them a sallow gold. It's not exactly monster of the deep, but it's as close as he's going to get in this land bound form, dark eyes turning towards the taller mare with still sleepy curiosity.