Meadow

Battle after battle, he had followed his fellow kinsmen. He had bled with them, his coat permanently marked with the marks of blunt teeth, and even kneeled at their side as they took a final breath. Was he stronger than them? No, just it seemed as if his mother's guiding hand had kept him from harms way. The battle cries still ring in his ears, the screams echo in his soul. He closes crystal blue eyes, his dark lashes conceal the tortured soul that lies within.

War leaves you with two types, the perpetually angry or the quietly brooding. Björn was the latter. The young spunky boy was but a memory, the days of frolicking amongst the ferns in the Forest, just a distant thought. His mothers warm voice, it was like the melody from the sweet birds beak, or the soft tinkle of water over rocks. He flicks his ears as the sound of hooves draw near, yet his eyes remain closed. Perhaps, who ever wandered here would not take notice of the grullo stallion nestled into a stand of trees.

The soft whisper of the wind, rustles the branches and the leaves that give shade to him, and tosses the loose ebony tendrils of his mane. His mane falls disheveled over muscled shoulders, where it comes to rest in tangled locks. Björn's eyes open slowly, sleepily, taking in the meadow that sprawls out before him. He takes notice of the few inhabitants, one older mare, a couple who conversed quietly, and her. His eyes cannot help but take her in, her curves, her honey colored pelt and her delicate features. It has beens some time since he has touched the soft skin of a woman.

Oh Björn, you ol' dog. He chuckles deeply to himself. This lass, looks as if she needs the company of a gentlemen. With a grunt, he pushes himself from the cover of his stand of trees. He approaches with the rustle of grass and the sound of his hooves to the earth. Björn clears his throat and opens his jaw to speak. "A lady such as yourself should not wander. There is danger in these lands." His accent thick, from years of being amongst his northern brethren.