: sweat-sprumed steed braces his rugged descent o' the slope, dusted sweetly so with flora gold that even the strength o' the Sun's stalwart face could not bare to dream of the worthiness cast to look upon its blest surface.. the skeletal stands o' the timber which mottle his abiding path toss their lithy shadows o'er the trench ahead, cloaking, locking the earth in a bind o' darkness, held away inches from a world of light that one would know nothing of aside the broken film o' light that pressed through the patchwork branches o' the tamarack... beautiful.. comely.. this indeed it was, and nothing short of it... and for now, for this one revered moment, if none more than that, it was his .

: stony horn strikes furiously at the stifling, frail mass o' vegitation, lamps trained impetuously 'pon the comely scene that engulfs him within his own dreamt 'wonderland'.. dredded strings of his rouge mane, dampened o' the sweat that consumes him, trail down the greased slope of his taut'd neck, blinding each glazed optic, deafening his rightly-set aurics, muting of speech the pursed seem of his parched lips.. for now, he would keep this land within himself, and himself within it... and when such time as he might be challenged for it, he would protect and stand a 'fore it with his very life on the line .