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 Inky form awaits in the dense cloak of shadows. Frame of the massive body just slightly accenting by the local of the orb of fire still hanging low in the sapphire sky. Muzzle is held just a breath away from the vermillion folage, though no intrest is taken in the vegetation. More is held in the others, the equines, who move about before him, unaware of the presence of the new. The long tresses, blacker than the feather of the ravens wing, lift and are slashed agaist the battle marred hide, an act of annoyance, and impatienceness. The skull is lifted slowly, crest unfolding, as the head is brought high. With a deliberate movement, the left forelimb is lifted, stretching forward, escaping the vail of darkness, and "embrassing" the light. The other follows the motion, bringing the stallions head into view, as true testimate is given to his size. The deep obsidian pools flicker rapidly, for the oculus are still very unacutomed to this immense illumination. Progress continues forth, until the flank leaves the dark refuge. As the skull is brough higher, it becomes slightly cocked, allowing better surveliance of the others before him, and as if on cue, a small, very sly smile spreads over the thin lips. The expression fades quickly, leaving the previous of mild intrest. Moving forth once more, the shadow hued nails rip into the trodden turf, propelling the beast forward. With each movement, the thick hide is drawn tightly over the tightly coiled muscles and bone, accenting the strength, and also, bringing unseen scares into visage. Nearing the ring of stones, he pauses again, the small cresent lobes removing from their safe hold in the dense forelock, as he gazes over them in curiosity, for never before has he seen such a thing, for in his land, nothing of this sort did exist. Giving up on the vast mystery he moves away, stumbling slightly, bringing a stabing pain to the right foreleg. Glancing down, slighty trickle of blood seeps down the raven flesh. Muffled curse is issued before moving away, realizing, once more, that his travel was lengthy to reach this place, and it has been many moons since sufficiant rest was given. Settling many paces from the mysterious stones, the limbs fold, bringing the nearly 17 hand form down. His shape is that of a large draft type breed, as his the stoatness of his frame, the the head, alhough large, is finely shaped, giving a hint of arabic anestory, although no sign of that is given in his bodyily mystique. The injured fore is streched out, as he examines the wound with a keen eye, knowing serious from mild, and dubbing this one as something to be looked into, but not enough to worry about at the present. With a soft snort the lobes lay back once more, and the oculus flutter to half ways closed, as the brute intends to only rest for short, but plan is abandoned shortly, as true exhaustion sets in. Name: Kronos Breed: Unknown Height: 17.1 Sex: Stallion Past: No one has lived to find out... |