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Dappledsnow moved to him. "Breed, stallion?" His voice was sharp and he spared no kindness. In a normal situation he would kill all stallions regardless of size. He was a huge Appaloosa, with a slightly scalloped forehead that spoke of his breeding. During his time away from Skyherd he had purposely allowed himself to be captured by humans. As soon as the farrier who had nailed the iron shoes to his hooves shut the door to his stall, he broke out and ran away. Now he had learned to fight, to kill, with his new weapons.
He had slain countless offending stallions. Even a sturdy Shire horse had met his wrath and fallen, lifeless, in the dust. The same had gone for a Clydesdale, a Frisian, a Percheron, and a Quarter Horse that possessed the speed of a cheetah.
As he looked steadily at Phoenix, he wondered whether this stallion would also die. Dapplesnow only preserved stallions if they had some sort of use to him; as soon as the status quo changed, they would fall prey to an eternal sleep brought on by his iron-shod hooves and heavy weight.
Phoenix bowed his head respectfully, a rare happening. "Purebred Barb," He answered, lifting his head up, but not in a proud manner. His usually flagged tail lay flat against his backside, his ears pricked at attention. He was willing to do almost anything to stay alive in this unforgiving environment.