Andarin: The Mountains: that lives inside my skin {lycoris}

Abra was ready, ere I call'd her name;
And though I call'd another, Abra came.
-- Matthew Prior

It is rare now, to see the lightning stallion in any place other than Andarin.

Despite his recent self-expulsion from Solira and his newest acclimation to the glade of Desreal, it was rare not to see the grey ghost lurking like a phantom in the land of the Wolves. Perhaps it was the predatory nature in him that drew him to the unlikely land; lands have a way of attracting those of a similar nature to its bosom.

Not implying that Alcatraz was at all a Wolf, or anything.

Predatory, certainly. Dark, obviously – but the beast had no ties, no loyalties. He could not be a Wolf; he could not nestle calmly in the heart of Andarin and be content. He, like the wind, was no spirit to be caged or kept under lock and key. He, master of his domain, answered to no one.

Which naturally, presented a problem when he needed alliances.

He wasn’t doing anything, not when he spotted the appaloosa-type mare. He was sulking, not that it counted for much. He flicked an ear towards her, his stoic expression unchanging. Like a stone.

He stepped closer, raising his head and inverting his neck in what was clearly a militaristic stance. Uncomfortable and unforgiving. He pulled his ears back to his skull, grinding his teeth as he thought of the best way to approach her. He usually chased away the natives.

He took a few steps forwards before exploding towards her frame like a rocket. He let his jaw go slack and drool fly from his open mouth as he charged belligerently towards her. The act was convincing, but Alcatraz pulled off at the last minute, breaking into an extended trot, his tail lifted victoriously and his jaunty movement a clear sign of his obvious impression with himself.

Of course, Lycoris would probably be significantly less impressed by his macho-display.

A L C A T R A Z
BLITZSTRAHL & WOLKERE || FIRE & LIGHTNING III