Nova Peak pen-channas

the horselord watched the champagne beam descend, whickering lowly beneath his breath. she remained regal, proud, ever-willing the same to stumble and make of herself a fool. and fool she would have been, were it not for the westerland beauty she wore upon her fetlock and the make of her slender hocks.

"xaráre psare þúle," felaróf called up to her stone court, unable to keep the tongue of the mearas from dancing to fore.

presently his fine-shaped ears swept forward; he became worried that she might cut her delicate ankles upon the scree, and by turns he began to climb the fragmented side of the mountain. "á lave nin etelehta tye, mhuin," the stallion chuffed, extending the powerful arch of his neck and stone-hardened legs for the mare to lean upon during her descent.