Sigurdr's gaze, cold and sharp, lingered on the Friesian stallion, the seconds stretching into an eternity as he awaited the answer. Finally, the stallion spoke, a single word echoing in the stillness: 'Friend.' Relief washed over Sigurdr, a wave of gratitude. He would have fought for Paradise again, even if it meant facing the Friesian stallion.

With a curt nod, he uttered, "Good," He listened attentively as he articulated his aspirations. "A second, as well, if you'll have me."

His gaze shifted to the stallion as he deliberated. Seeking a position required boldness and self-assurance, qualities that Sigurdr respected. However, forging a bond of trust and brotherhood required more than just fleeting admiration.

"Bring me something of true worth," he declared, pausing for emphasis. "Prove yourself, and the second position is yours. But fail to impress me, and you'll find yourself seeking a new home."