paint it black; revol

[Lior]

dark son of gunsynd

His cave is not far off from the meadow. Lior is fortunate have found shelter so close to his source of nourishment for it helps to feed his seclusion. The dampness of the cave clings to his skin, weaving and tangling in the strands of his mane. It only seems to accentuate the darkness of his pelt and brighten the liquid mercury of his eyes. Large feathered feet plod along with heavy thuds while he grazes under the orange glow of a setting summer sun. He takes no notice to the lightening bugs that blink slowly around him like fairy lights. In fact, the stallion takes little notice to much for he is alone and quite content with the responsibility of one. No herd. No home. No worries. The first of the evening stars begin to wink into existence. A slow ghostly 'hoo' of owls call across to one another as they wake from their slumber. Small calls of the whip-o-will can be heard not far from where the tar stallion fed. Incisors clip at a small bit of grass before he lifts his skull in a slow motion, jaw still chewing as he catches an unknown scent not far off from where he stood. Lids fall over the ash of his eyes before lifting again with unchanging features. The meadow brought forth many walks of life at different times of day and this would be no different. Whatever was out there in the very fringes of darkness, watching him, would emerge eventually. LIOR