Had prodded the stag to this land, and to the territory he had entered, to the very spot where he now stood. Thick timbers stood straight and strong, like pillars supporting a building. Black hooves had sunken slightly into the earth beside the river, it having gone soft from desperately slurping at the liquid nearby. Skull was lowered, dark brown orbs staring into the water before mug. He saw only one thing; his reflection. Three years of his life, wasted in foolish wanderings. He had recently begun to doubt his reason for the continuation of his life. Save for the tiny spark of hope that still burned within him. Hope that he could find a love, and start a family. He had never really quested to be the leader of a herd. But that would come in time, along with his family. But yet, sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he submitted to the humans instead of evading them. No. He didn't truly want to know. To have to do what they want, when they want? He could never live as such. Some horses aren't meant to be locked up; and he was one of them.

Lifted, harks angled back against the sound of the wind. For a moment, they almost resembled horns. But as the breeze stopped, they pressed forward, listening to the sounds of the plain. He could hear the far-off cry of fighting stallions, and his blood rose within him; urging him to fight those who were weaker, and take mares for his herd. He had no motive to hurt another stallion. And would have none, so long as they never wronged him. Also, the idea of forcing mares into a herd did not appeal to him. Why would he force a female to be something she wanted nothing to do with? True, there were those out there who wished for a herd. But those kind always seemed to evade his presence. Muscles tensed for a moment, hearing the final cry of the losing stallion. He would never see the light of another day.

Was shaken, ridding it of all thoughts of herds, death, or anything of the like. He let his mind remain blank, not wanting to think. Gazing off to the right, over the expanse of the plain, he became still. It seemed that he was a statue, carved out of volcanic glass and chiseled to perfection. The only hint that portrayed his living being was the slight movements of his ribs as he breathed in and out, as was necessary to survive.