paint it black; any

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

Sharp teeth rip away at the grass greedily, feathered hooves thudding on the occasion as he moves. There are plenty of sounds and scents hovering around his head but Lior numbs it all out. In fact, he is quite content to be alone as Beqanna crumbles down around him. It would draw not much more than more than a shrug from him. A combination of spring and hunger had coaxed him from his cave. The enticing scent of lush grass and wild grains were too much to ignore over the grumbles of his stomach. It's true, he was worse for the wear. The dark skin is thick with a winter coat but underneath is the jut of ribs. Gray eyes are half closed as he must eat despite the boredom that came with the ravenous appetite. Finally, after a belly full of sweet grass and cold snow waters from the mountains, he can finally lift his head for more than a few moments to actually look at his surroundings. This new meadow is remarkably similar to the last. Pockets of horses swarmed the land. Some in little thickets of conversation while others dined like he had just done. Lior doesn't expect much, if anything, and proceeds to carry his tall bulk deeper into the embrace of the meadow at the leisurely pace. LIOR