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I want to see my sons. My sons, all grown up. An amused, wicked smile lights up my lips. Archibald... Vincent... Wilder... Evers... Casimir... Knox... Kipp... Emerson... all playing their own games. Of course, not even my greatest achievement Archibald would dare to challenge me. If they were so silly as to, why, my other sons would stamp them out in an instant. It was far too trivial of a matter to do so myself, although to ruin many years of work was a grave disappointment. Yet, I find myself wondering. What of Evers? Unicorn War Lord, leader of the Foothills. Right. Maybe it is time to step up his game. Next stallion who courts me, I shall have to set him hounding onto. Although Archibald and Loretta may be very well as well. Perhaps both would be the best choice. Brother bonding time!
My hoof breaks through the crusted snow, scrapes away. Lips seek out dried grass, eats the pale, dry food with disgust. Better yet, send my sons on a quest to find good green grass! Winter's embrace, I do not mind, yet the dead grass I very much do. It is so horrid, so bitter. Such a small fact sets me in a temper, although it quickly evaporates like the frosted breath leaving my mouth. As I swallow down the measly scraps, my mind is a-thinking, turning Evers over and over, examining him from every angle. It is time to hold conference with my children, I think. Yes, it is indeed.
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