A New Era

The air was thick with tension as Uruk led Asa through the Buffalo Knolls and away from the home they once knew, blood still littered upon his heavy frame, his hooves leaving imprints beneath him in the soft earth. The landscape around them was both eerie and majestic - large, hill shaped mounds rose from the ground, each one coated in lush grass that shimmered like emeralds in the late afternoon light. Thin trees stood like sentinels atop some of the mounds, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, casting long shadows that danced across the hills.

Uruk's muscles rippled beneath his thick hide as he moved, scanning the horizon with his ghostly white gaze. The Buffalo Knolls were a place of legend, a sacred land where the spirits of the hunted were said to roam. He did not want to leave. The scent of the grass here was intoxicating, rich with life and history... the beast would stall, his mind reeling with thought.

Uruk's hooves dug into the earth as he came to a sudden stop, his breath heavy and uneven. The Buffalo Knolls had a pull on him that he couldn't quite shake - a magnetic force that beckoned him to stay, to conquer. The thick scent of the grass and the ancient spirits in the air stirred something primal within him. This land, with its rolling mounds and whispers of the past, felt like it was calling out to him. Take what is yours. It was as if the very ground beneath his hooves was demanding blood - a sacrifice to solidify is claim.

His mind churned with thoughts of the past, the weight of his father's words still heavy on his shoulders. The old fool had banished him, had called him bloodthirsty and crazy, but Uruk knew the truth. His father's way was one of weakness, of pacifism, and it had no place here on his lands. This land needed someone stronger to protect it, someone who wasn't afraid to spill blood, to claim. And if that meant tearing down the very herd he was born into, so be it.

Uruk's ghostly white eyes narrowed as his decision solidified. He would not flee from this place; he would claim it as his own. The Gor'rok Clan would rise here, in the land of its ancestors, and it would be a force unmatched by any other. But, first, he would have to deal with his father and any of his loyal followers who stood in his way.

"Asa," he rumbled, his voice low and filled with the promise of violence. He swung his head around, his still bloodied horn cleaning against the climbing sun in the sky. He looked to her and although he did not want to command her to come with him, he knew she shared his hunger for something stronger, a desire to see the weak removed from the Knolls. "...we are not leaving. Stay close."

With that, Uruk wheeled around, his massive form moving with a speed that belied his size. His muscles worked beneath his gray hide, ready to unleash the fury that had been building within him all this time. The landscape blurred as he charged back toward the heart of the Knolls, where is father's herd roamed in ignorant peace.

As he crested the main hill of his father's territory, the herd came into view, grazing in the serene silence of the afternoon. They looked like they belonged here, like they had found solace in the soft grasses and gentle breezes. But Uruk knew better. They were interlopers, undeserving of the land they walked on and too weak to hold it.

His father stood at the center of the herd, his once powerful form now softened by age and the delusions of peace. The sight of him sparked a fresh wave of anger in Uruk's chest, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled with force. He had spent too long under this stallion's rule, too long stifling his true nature.

Uruk did not waste time with words. He charged down the hill, his hooves thundering like the storm he was, each strike a promise of the violence to come. The herd's heads snapped up in alarm, but by then it was too late. Uruk's father barely had time to register the attack before his son was upon him. The impact was brutal, a clash of power and fury as Uruk rammed his horned head into the father's side. The older stallion staggered, his eyes wide with shock and pain as blood poured from where he had been impaled. Uruk did not relent. He used his size and strength to push his Shire father back, away from the herd, to fight.

His father would listen to his own anger then, his eyes coming alive with a fire that Uruk had never seen. It amused Uruk. Age and complacency had dulled his edge, no matter how much rage he may feel now. It was too late. Uruk's assault was too much for the old stallion, he was too fast. Too strong. Each charge of his horn, stomp of his hoof, bite of his teeth... was a message: This land is mine. You are no longer fit to lead.

Uruk's breath began to come in harsh gasps, but he felt no fatigue, only the thrill of the fight. His father's legs buckled, and he stumbled, crashing into the ground with a grunt of pain. Uruk loomed over him, his chest heaving, his eyes cold.

"This.. is your end," Uruk growled, his voice laced with contempt. "You were never fit to lead this herd. Your own weakness has brought you to this moment."

His father looked up to him, a mixture of fear and regret in his eyes. "Uruk, this is madness..." he croaked, but the words were lost on Uruk. He had already made up his mind. With a final crushing blow, Uruk's horn rammed through his father's eye and into his skull, leaving his body limp. Using a massive hoof to keep his father's body still, the cold-hearted stallion pushed the body off his horn and immediately whipped his head around to scan the herd, ready to stand up against anyone that would protest his claim.

"This land belongs to the strong," Uruk declared, his voice carrying across the herd. "A new order will rise here, and those who are not fit to join will be driven out."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken understanding that a new era had begun. Uruk's father lay defeated at his feet, and with him, the old ways were buried.