Burning Sentinel

The moon lay sleeping in the sky, this night being the one before the moon’s new crescent would be seen… As time passed, and the Volcano slowly settled back into sullen rest, the sky was slowly gaining some clarity. He knew it would be some time yet before life would truly begin to return to its natural cycles.

He made do with what he had, pawing to clear the starved grasses of ash. When he didn’t find any good forage in the form of grass, he went the way of the mustang, browsing low-lying shrubs. But he always returned to this flat, expansive plain with its one stream. It was a good base point to return to. While it wasn’t sheltered from wind, rain, and other weather, it still provided no cover for predators to sneak up on him under.

His intelligence and resourcefulness had seen him through the hungry, cold spring far better than a lot of the other prey beasts. He came upon the starved carcasses of deer, elk, bison and many other creatures that would have normally been thriving on fresh grass.

Predators were desperate, those that did not rely on more advanced means of food preservation or caching. He was far more alert these days and nights.

This night, he was the only source of light on the Dancefloor. The sky was swathed in clouds, and the moon was new and dark anyway. From horn to tail to hoof, he glowed softly with his silver-blue light. It was a gift and a curse. On the one hoof, many predators of higher thinking were shocked by the sight of him, which allowed him a chance to slip away before the other could come to their senses, if he wished to be un-bothered.

On the other hoof, it made him the first thing a hungry predator noticed among the herds. The fact that he stood there alive and well was testament to his speed and agility, and his proficiency with his natural weapons. His horn had seen the blood of many a hunter.

Teal eyes scanned the ink-black night, ears pricked through the thick white mane as he listened for danger. His own light helped some, but only to a small extent, and he was ever wary, resting during the day. Occasionally, his muzzle tipped up, nostrils flaring and testing the air.

He’d done this vigil many times as a band King, and though he mastered no mares at this time, it was a hard habit to break. Plus the night was peaceful.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think