Valley of Gold eohippus

the stallion ran hard through one day and in to the next, and through a night of wandering with paranoia sending him in to desperate canters on, and on, and on, knowing that if he stopped he would not start again; the blood oozing from his shredded neck had solidified like a port-wine stain while the other wounds, the older ones to his ribs and haunch, now burned and festered.
his lungs burned.
around the corners of his mouth, his nostrils, caked pink foam.
he wheeled through the valley—vaguely aware that this was a place he should know, populated by those of his own bloodline, but for the time being maplesmoke was alone. it was the worst situation for one such as himself to be in.
and what of the other man? the warrior stallion—?
huffing and sprinting onward, maplesmoke could only pray to equus to watch over them both.

There's a horse.

The sight of the strange creature makes him uncomfortable. He has never seen one on person, only heard stories and their shrill, ghostly cries in the night. He stands at a safe distance, only able to stare as he decides how to approach such a stituation. He smells blood on the thing. He knows that it would make a good meal for Verapaz, but hunting it down himself does not seem a viable option even if it is truly weakened.

Admittedly, he is rather afraid.