Sturdy stallion is in no mood to be found- he rests alone in the tall grasses, separated from Manhattan for the first time since he was a child. As the wind rustles the grasses they lean to tickle him, but he finds their brushing no more than an annoyance. He reaches out with his mind to find his companion, but the cold and familiar wall between them blocks her mind off from his. He knows she has only gone to hunt, and he knows that she will return soon, but in the time of her absence he is restless. He lets the bridle clench tightly against his drawn and sallow skin as he waits for his meal and company. His jaws undulate and saliva flows from them in anticipation- on any other day he would be out there with her, hunting beside her.

But for some reason today he feels weak. Weak perhaps from a lack of emotion for too long, or perhaps from the fact that he has gone too long without rest. He lies in the thistles and weeds with his eyes shut and blinded. The sun here is too bright, he needs his magic to keep himself grounded. It is refreshing to see nothing and only feel what falls against him. It allows him to imagine there is nothing around him, that he is in an empty void inhabited by silence.

But the sound of hoofbeats and a sudden gush of wind breaks the spell. In the distance he hears the barking of Manhattan; the victory barks he has told her to sound out when the kill has been made, followed by one of warning. It appears his companion has seen their company before he has even sensed them. The vibration of her paws as she runs back to his side through the meadow is familiar and steadying- it is like a heartbeat to occupy the apparent absence and stillness of his own. The scent of rabbit's blood runs high on the air; the thud of its body as it falls before him and the splatter of its blood as it spits up at him a reminder of his kills. Manhattan barks on, wary of the travelers, urging her master to stand and greet them. He hears her growl protectively, for she knows of his current state, but he only nickers and urges her to his side.

"Apologies, traveler- she does not often take well to strangers," Knox speaks into the black void of blindness as he turns his head without direction to find them. Their scent is lost behind the mask of rabbit's blood, which tempts him to eat. He dips his head into the creature, feels its quickly cooling flesh as it presses against his velvet nose. The scent of death is intoxicatingly familiar, and the hunger draws him in. His teeth delicately grasp flesh, tearing and grinding at it against nature's will. At its other end, Manhattan sits tall and silent, watching the pair of strangers with a curious distrust set deep in her sky-blue eyes.. It would be polite to leave the meal for later; to rise, perhaps rid himself of his magic, and greet them properly. But while Mandrake raised him with many things, manners were never her priority.

Nothing was ever a priority but murder.