Sleepy Fox Hollow piltover

colosseum watched him retreat with a dominant snort, the sound sharp and cutting through the tension like a whipcrack. he shook his massive head, his mane rippling like storm clouds as a guttural chuckle rumbled from his chest. his dark eyes narrowed as he watched the giant’s lumbering retreat, his rival’s attempts at defiance as laughable as the feeble kick that barely grazed him.

colosseum turned with deliberate slowness, his massive frame exuding unshakable confidence as he set his sights on the prize: the mares. his posture was regal, each step deliberate, his muscles rippling beneath his dappled coat like coiled steel. the air around him seemed to shift, the weight of his dominance settling like a storm front as he strode toward them.

his ears flicked forward, his nostrils flaring to take in their scent, his presence an unspoken declaration of victory. he was the king here, and the battlefield was his throne. colosseum let out a deep, rolling whinny, his voice cutting through the air like a banner raised high, signaling to the mares that their new protector—and ruler—had arrived.