The summer sun cast its liquid gold rays upon the backs of two flighty creatures. One, the much smaller of the pair, was running aimlessly through the trees, stopping to smell every single aroma that its small black nose picked up on. It didn't care who the owner of the scent was -- he had disturbed a few porcupines already, he had the quills in his nose to prove it -- just as long as he got to find out what it was.

The larger form, however, loped with a steady rhythm. His mismatched hooves pounded mercilessly against the dark mossy floor, plowing their way through every bush or fern frond that stood in his path. The plants whipped against his scarred buckskin hide, but the pain only reminded him of the torment that he had gone through only months prior. His jaw clenched at the memories of the dragon's breath enveloping his face; of the odor of burning flesh and and singed fur filling his nostrils.

The brute shook his head violently, unwilling to let himself wallow in his self pity. You have conquered, and you have overcome. Now is not the time to sit here and think of the past. It is time to seek vengeance for the injustice that has been dealt to you!

A small, flower-spotted field stretched out ahead of the buckskin, their vibrant colors a pleasant surprise for the stallion. Ricochet had been traveling through the dark, dreary forest for many days now, and the change of scenery was welcomed by him. The equine was beginning to pick up the pace again when he realized that the dim-witted canine that he had as a companion was no where in sight -- or, as Ricochet liked to put it; where he should be.

"Guns!" The brute whistled to the collie, annoyed that his dog was once again straying too far. He could have sworn that the beast's sole purpose in life was to meddle with the quarter horse's affairs. "Get over here, you scatter-brain!" The affection in the stud's voice difficult to hide nonetheless. Being unable to bond with his companion was frustrating for him, but he still felt that unmistakable connection between him and the little black dog. Why else would he continue to follow the stout buckskin, if not for that link?

Guns whipped his body around at the big horse's whistle, his ears pricked forwards and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He loved master -- although respected him was much more appropriate -- and he would do anything for him. Especially since master's face got all funny, the burns on the side of it not flattering at all. Not that it mattered to Guns, he just followed the yellow-ish horse wherever he went. But, where was it that they were going, exactly?

Ah, yes, the thought was returning to him now. Stupid Guns, stupid!

We're going home!

We're going home.
"{{Extreme, major, ridiculous fail of a post. Can you tell I'm not used to these two characters yet? XD}}"