Like a Carousel

The morning light filtered into his den, casting faint golden beams across Bal's already golden coat. Stirring from his nest of dried moss and leaves, the growing prince stretched out his frame, his obsidian eyes catching a glimmer of light as they opened. His ravens perched above him, cawing impatiently, their black feathers glinting like onyx. With a low grunt, Balrog rose to his paws, slipping his obsidian dagger into its sheath. He fastened his plated bracers on his forelimbs, the weight feeling empowering as he walked out of his den.

"Alright, let's go," he murmured to his ravens, stepping out into the crisp morning air. His paws carried him south, toward the old battlefield that he had been visiting as of late. It did not take him long to get there, the territory only a short distance from the Armada. As he walked, he lifted his crown to echo a howl into the lands, calling for a sparring partner.

"Balrog"