Björn's heart clenches with every thought of war. Guilt ravages his body, this was all his doing, his very home Isles would be engulfed in war and turmoil. He has seen the outcome of battles, of ravaging and plundering. His glacial eyes cloud with concern. What would become of the Isles? What would be left in the wake of battles fought? His body is riddled with scars from battles past, showing his warrior pride, but he is filled turmoil on the inside.
He parts his pink lips and a bugle rings out to his herd, he needs to inform them of what has happened. They would need to prepare themselves for what is to come in the next months. The sound echos off of the jungle's coconut palms and balsa trees. The colorful birds overhead begin a pandemonium of squawks and screams in protest of Björn's bugle.
Björn knows that shortly they will begin to emerge from the jungle's depths. It was time that each of them became acquainted with each other. A soft breeze ruffles his shaggy ebony mane, it cools him on this warm, humid winter morning. An odd pairing, for a man who is used to the blistering, frigid cold winds of the North. When the time of War comes, it will be wise for all of them to fight together as one. And for each of them to decide for themselves it they will partake in Warsaw's cause.
Translation:
Icelandic mutt - Grullo Sabino - Stallion - 14.3 hh - Dögun x Freya
Bera Konung of the Ridge