Panzer rolled in on the waves with the steady pounding of his large feet. Smashing through the surf of the Inlet’s beach, his thick neck arched as he charged inward—a war posture. The bay roan hated this place. He wanted to destroy every grain of sand that shuddered beneath his powerful steps, turn every rock to dust. If it were possible, he would pound this god forsaken chunk of land from the very earth itself. His nostrils flaring and his dark eyes fixed into a glare, he silently cursed everything that lay before him—the memories of his mother’s abuse hot in his muscles as much as they lay apparent in the multitude of scars across his white-flecked midsection. The land of his birth was a reminder of the short straw he had drawn being born out of a heartless, uncaring monster by a father who’s only role was pumping twenty ccs of liquid loathing into her.

He didn’t ask for this, for any of this.

He couldn’t have, even if he somehow wanted to. The bay roan behemoth never said a word in his life. His voice did not manifest into words, only raw emotions for which he could not control. Thus when the painted girl came into his view, he did not think; he only set her in his crosshairs and continuing stomping her way, unwilling to slow, stop or move in any other direction except towards her. He pressed himself forward like a great wall, pushing her in front of him headed anywhere but here. Panzer did not heed her, care what happened to her, nor could he be moved by anything else remotely resembling reason.

In his mind, there was no such thing.


PANZER