Kitty, too, is bored. He discovers new parts of this land every day, but with every discovery he is only more disappointed. Kitty wants again the excitement of the bone guardian in the woods, the odd thrill of feeling hunted by a creature with a gift. But no, in this new land that he has discovered Kitty is stronger than most. He is too big, too bold, too beautiful, to be hunted.

If you were strong enough you might rip his skin from his bones so you could dry and stretch it. He would be the finest leather, and from him you would craft delicate things that reflected his beauty. You aren't, though, so your violent obsession is no more than a daydream. You watch instead as Kitty lives and breathes, stepping along this shore and leaving hoofprints in the sand. Muscles resist and press against the confines of his body. They seem to be a cage for that soul of his, and perhaps that's why you can't see it.

You know that he must have one, for Kitty is truly the greatest being you have ever known, but it's just so... distant. It's as bright and shining as the dying sun on these flats, but when you look for it you only see what you see when you look down at that water. His missing soul is only this: a reflection so clear that it feels distorted, and a terrible haunting of sorts.

At the end of the day, the same end this one nears, you just wish he would see you. He doesn't, though. Kitty's eyes are on the prize; while you search for his soul he searches for something to quench his thirst.

For Kitty, too, is bored. He sees the other stallion--not small but smaller, not ugly but uglier, not weak but weaker, well no, maybe weak--and he approaches with a perfect and even stride.

"Don't chase the birds, boy!" Kitty calls this out wickedly, despite the fact that he is not much older than the stallion he sees before him. "The birds will only fly and leave you as dissatisfied as before. You want to catch something, feel something thick and hot against your skin?"

You want to. You want to catch him, but you're not the one he's talking to. He doesn't even know you're here. You just watch, perfectly numb as the world moves around him. Only there's nothing perfect about you, not you who watch but are powerless to act. Kitty will always operate on a higher plane.

When he moves it takes you by surprise, even though you watch so closely. He isn't fast so much as he is powerful, but you'd like to think he's the best in all aspects. You know what's coming, though, and you've seen this before. Kitty is about to strike.

"Catch this!" Kitty calls out like a war cry as he charges forth. It's more upfront than usual, more dramatic, but he's horribly, terribly bored. There's something special for you, too, to watch him act like this--to watch his faint dorsal stripe extend the line his hooves leave in the sand, to watch his silken tail fly behind him. It's as if he's exercising every right that he has to be magnificent, and it's wonderful to see.

As he gallops forth, sand both wet and dry flies behind him. The birds that he passes fly off in something like utter fear, or perhaps the knowledge that their king is drawing closer with every muffled hoofbeat. You watch as Kitty draws closer, hopefully facing the stallion head on, and feigns to his own right; the opponent's left. For a moment it looks as if he'll veer off and run beyond the unicorn and truly lead this white one on a grand chase.

Kitty, though, is not ever one to reveal what he truly plans. At the last second, just when he hopes to be just before parallel to the other stallion's left, he executes a perfect crowhop, lifting all four of his hooves off of the ground, and tries to pull his body to his left and slam it against the younger male's side. If he is successful, he will be able to use his bulk to throw the opponent off balance.

You know what it looks like when he wins. You've seen it before, and it's perfect.