A lone stallion stood out of view, up to his chest in the swaying grass, taking in the scent of the herd.
He stood tall with the proud stance of untouched freedom, his raven eyes burning.
But there was something wrong, for he stood alone.
Many months, almost years back, one would have seen him among a herd of dozens, the largest in the area. Foals, mares and few young stallions beside him, that was until the fight.
Two stallions, brothers, came to his herd and he did what he had always done.
The fight was gruesome, lasting well into the night, and he won. But his victory was not without it's due, one of his front legs was broken and he bled from many wounds.
It was the next day the flying thing came, buzzing over them like an angry bee. He could not run and fell hard, the world fading into the screams of his mares and pounding hooves.
He woke up alone and until recently had barely hung on. Now, however, he was back.
His dirty coat of white stood lashed with silver scars and his leg healed, he watched.