It was dusk. The stallion knew. He always knew. Something within him, call it a gift, if you will, always informed him of when the glorious sun was going down... and when it was rising again. Hatred for the Sun stemmed from what the stallion felt was an unjust curse placed upon him, for with the Sun's appearance in the sky his own appearance shifted into something... unsavoury.

But now? The Sun's radiant edge had just dropped below the horizon. Twilight ruled the realm, and the stallion felt alive again. Breaths rolled in and out of his muzzle with ease, no rasping nor effort was required as in his other form. His long, leonine tail lashed about his magnificently muscled haunches with pride. His thickly set nape curved majestically, his chiselled crown held with all the royal pride and beauty that came naturally to him in this form. Cloven hooves took definitive, purposeful steps across the frozen loam, his warm skin relishing the cool, snowy breeze.

The stallion picked up a long-strided, elegant trot now, always in the first minutes of his change could he never deny the urge to run, jump, leap!, to use his body's full potential. Being stuck in a cripple's rickety old frame all day, every day made one appreciate just how wonderful freedom of movement was.

But it was short lived. The stallion's old habit of brooding over himself and his wretched curse constantly soon resurfaced. He settled his steps before a small pond, dipping the tip of his cloven hoof into the water to watch the ripples expand away from it. As the crystalline surface smoothed out once more, his deep, violet eyes sought out his brilliant appearance. A smug smile tugging at his lips as he absorbed all that was, well, himself. He tilts his crown to watch the shimmering cascade of tendrils fall about his nape, laughing quietly at the sheer brilliance that was reflected at him.

Even with being turned into a monster during the day, the curse was not so cruel, for it still allowed him to spend some time in his true form, this beautiful body of youthful exuberance and splendour. The curse did not have the victory over him.. and still he did not have victory over it. He was stuck in a stalemate, one he had little clue how to get through. He shakes himself, ridding his pearlescent coat of any residual dust and dirt, before peering out over the lands of permafrost, his tall frame easily giving him clear views of what may come.

[ For Rishima ]