11-21-2015, 09:07 PM
Upon first gaze, he looked massive, coat a rippling flow of molten silver. From afar, he was formidable at best, stature proud and strong, even as he grazed. But at a closer look, one could see the half-healed scars that dotted his flanks, his legs, his neck. Noticeable sections of mane were gone, scratches on the skin below. For such a proud stallion as he was, wearing such gifts from battle were humiliating, but they were obvious and could not be ignored. But there was a hardness to his eye that betrayed the rather disheveled appearance, a tenseness in the muscled shoulder that hinted at a readiness to turn and fight if need be.
He'd learned to be prepared.
Even in such a soothing environment, with horses just like he all around, he could not relax. He was on edge, even as he grazed, his ears feigning relaxation while the reality was he was hyperaware of everything going on in his vicinity. To say he had issues with trust would be an understatement - not a soul had penetrated the walls he had erected around himself. So he kept on the alert, listening for any sign of approaching hooves.