[[ Intermediate or higher skills
[[ Love and knowledge of horses
[[ Love of role playing
[[ Imagination
[[ Look, and not touch

Standing from afar, you hear a repetitive drumming; the beat of the horses' nadir as they thunder through the gorges and down to the water. In the distance you can see another herd moving in the same direction and a conflict is sensed as the two cadres draw closer together. Your prediction is correct, and as the two harems reach the crystalline haven of the water hole, both males take notice of the other simultaneously. The second, one of ink pigment, initiates the battle. The dappled, an elder brute, heads out at a slower pace to meet the challenger. The pair grapple for several grueling moments before the figure of the stippled male finally lies, motionless, in the dust. The victor is the younger black and his prize is evident, as he rounds up the gray's mares and adds them to his petite harem. Sifting through his now large harem, the virile stallion acquaints himself with each of his ‘prizes,’ before noting the foals. Their scent is familiar, yet not his own... the one of the slain grey. Hastily, the grey’s offspring are slaughtered, and though it may seem brutal, it is necessary so that his lineage does not thrive to overpower his own heirs when the time comes. Moving on, despite the forlorn bellowing of the foal-less mare, the equines refresh themselves and then begin their return to their kingdom, one that lies far off on the horizon.