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=Listeners spin at alert attention. Ashen nails raking in brutal silence over the earth. Gaze is drawn fourth attentively, marbled pools peering out from within' thin veil. His stance alone gives some the impressing of dominance, nobilty, dignity, experience, wisdom, all of the above. But nothing in his voice or manner proves these true. Yes, he holds all these several qualities, but he holds his modesty to himself, refusing to let the world catch wind of his adored secrets. Nostrils expand and contract evenly, having perfected the simple action. Muzzle twitches with instinct, unseen fingers outstretching to grasp his tangled locks. The silent breezes that haunt his newly claimed lands brush up 'gainst his pelt as if questioning the new leader, feeling him out. Hock kisser swings at ease, then drops in a single snap to his hocks. At his command, large figure proceeds fourth at a deafening lope. Travelers allow themselves the freedom of going 'clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop', and give the illusion of laziness although it is so far from the truth. Head is swung silently aside, tilting, craning to catch sight of the others in the field. Suddenly, and without warning, a piercing whistle flies from his lips, as if he had enhaled a ghost then allowed it to erupt without premonition. The silence falls again, gaze still transfixed upon the huddled herds of mares and stallions. one day his herd will roam among his lands, and new land owners will gaze 'pon -his- land with longing. Pelt quivers, then even hide falls still, for it is though the bold call never even happened. 'tis though he was never even here. =



=Terrence=
=crowned.king.of.the.island=

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