paint it black; teal

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

He is fairly certain that he likes summer. The beat of the sun across his broad back warmed him lovingly. It made his cave like a cool treat when he lay his broad form on the stony ground to stretch and sink into the earth and forget the thoughts of a not so distant conversation with his father. On this day, Lior moves to his usual place in the meadow, not far from the edge of the forest that separated him and his small home. Thick matted tendrils of mane bounce against the length of his neck as a heavy hoof moves him from time to time. It is a blessed thing to have the once gaunt features filled out...the poke of sickening ribs to relax with a thicker barrel. Plainly, Lior is no longer looking like winter had almost smothered him in her freezing embrace of starvation and sickness. He had no agenda, no one to impress or disappoint. He was just who he was. A moody, hungry grump. Large nostrils clear with a snort before he lifts the heaviness of his head to look about. More often than not, he remained alone in the meadow. Small clutches of horses drift across the grassy plain like wayward ships. Sometimes they captained themselves whilst others followed after like tied buoys. Lior chews the bit of grass in his mouth thoughtfully as he witnesses the connections. The pewter of his eyes determine he is not fond of that lifestyle and he was much more content not caring and chasing after mares. Who could possibly want more than he already had? Lior is a king in his own eye with plentiful grass, shelter in a comfortable cave, and no one to answer too. The slight touch of a smirk changes his features for a moment before it dispappears with dip of his head as he seeks to fill his belly further. After all, if women should come to him then so be it but for now he does not question nor interrupt the life path he travels. LIOR