Miles and miles of netherworlds I roam
Time had been kind to him as it is with most horses. They are fortunate they do not wrinkle and fade if their genetics had permitted it. Davorin is no different and the buckskin is thicker, fuller, a man now where a young colt of a stallion had stood before.
The fullness of his antlers lay heavy upon his head, a crown of points, they are broad and thick. Dav stands with a proud head lifted, looking over the meadow he occupied. So many names had come and gone, erased by the fingers of time, smudged away. Davorin had seemed to wake from a darkness where he was strong, clear headed and curious.
The sun had rose some hours ago to burn away the early mist that the stallion had appreciated. Dew clung to blades of grass, tiny prisms of shattered rainbows, that he knocked away with each step of his tawny hide. Others roamed here, their bodies close, their conversations whispered between them. He breathes it all in...slowly, methodically, waiting.
Beqanna keeps it's residents close. It is nearly impossible to escape the clutch of it's grasp, like roots buried deep int he heart, dark veins that keep your heart beating. His lineage has been forgotten by most, no doubt, the valley fractured apart and replaced by unnamked lands that are foreign to his tongue. The world smelled different now as others moved past in bright fuscias and green. Nearly all were antlered or wings or scaled. It was frightening and exciting for the stallion as others crept from their resting spots to mingle int he meadow. Surely a familiar face would emerge but in the mean time he could entertain himself with a conversation with a willing participant. Dav takes steps to further push him self into the belly grasses, tugging at a few, chewing slowly.
davorin