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A desperate cry suddenly rent the still night air. It was the call of an animal in distress. The kentaur mare collapsed to the wind-bent grass, her sides heaving and her coat darkening with a heavy sweat. The long hours had left her weak and drained.

The thunder of hoof beats and inquiring nickers followed in the wake of her cry, drowning out its echo. Within seconds, the distressed mare was surrounded by other mares, all of them offering comforting calls but none dared to touch her.

The distressed mare felt the warm breath of another across her nose and opened her eyes, giving a weak snort as she saw the matron that knelt by her head. "Sister," the matron said without words. "What is it that ails you?"

"Something is wrong with my foal. I can not bring it to the world." She replied weakly before again closing her eyes.

The matron laid a hand on the stricken mother's neck. "Take strength and comfort, sister. Everything will be alright." She rose and shooed away the others before moving to where she could best perform the duties of midwife. With gentle touches, the matron probed the mother's distended belly and quickly discovered the problem; the foal was breech and could not be expelled. The extended labor had exhausted the young mother, and if the foal was not brought forth soon, both would be lost.

Giving another encouraging nicker, the matron drew on her knowledge from her own years of foaling to help bring forth the shy foal. Even with the help of the matron, the birth was still long and difficult. The young mare was left too weak to even look up at the charcoal gray kentaur colt that was finally brought forth. One by one, the other mares began to drift away, leaving mother and colt alone together. A large bowl of water was left within the mare's reach, but no other assistance was offered.

It was over an hour before the colt finally stirred, raising his little head briefly to sniff the air, gathering the scents of the new world around him before laying back to the grass. Eventually hunger drove him to move again, making one clumsy attempt after another to rise to his feet, collapsing again and again on his untried legs.

Finally the little colt managed to find his balance and walked to the belly of his still-resting mother before collapsing down again. Taking comfort from her warmth, instinct alone drove the colt to seeking out the source of milk and suckling for the first time before finally falling asleep for a much needed nap.

The warmth of the morning sun also brought a return of the wind, leaving the colt only partly shielded by the body of his mother. His small eyes squinted against the bright beams of the rising light, small hands instinctively reaching out to touch the intangible new thing that had entered his young life. As his small fingers grasped nothing but air he looked down at his hands and became fascinated by his own wiggling digits.

The colt's own shadow was the next discovery to capture his interest, causing many futile attempts to capture it in his small hands. Every time he thought for sure he had grasped a small piece of the shade, he would open his hands and it would be melted away in the sunlight like snowflakes.

The youngling was not allowed this new exploration long, however, before a new distraction entered his world. A high, shrill whinny sounded from close by, drawing the colt's attention and causing his large ears to swivel experimentally as he searched for the source of the noise. A fleeing shadow was all he caught sight of before it disappeared, and he tried to figure out what the silhouette had belonged to. The sound did not strike him as threatening, but it was not welcoming to his ears either.

When he felt the ground begin to shake soon after, he quickly rose to his unsteady legs and cried out in alarm. His damn lifted her head and gave an impatient snort before lowering it to the ground again. The rumble of approaching hooves grew louder as a band of mares, led by the older matron that had facilitated the colt's birth, approached, a large group of stallions following a short distance behind.

Confused and frightened by seeing so many other kentaurs at once, the gray colt bolted a short distance before coming back again, unwilling to go more than a few feet from his mother in any direction, but too spooked to stand still. He was ignored, however, as the mares slowed their pace and surrounded their weakened sister, offering her sounds of comfort and support. The new mother even raised her head again to touch her nose to that of the matron before falling still once more. Speaking in their language of short sounds and gestures, the matron quickly took charge and called forth the stallions. Fresh bowls of water and stew were placed in front of the downed mare and all were patient as she raised up her head to take what she could of both.

Once finished, a stretcher was brought forth. It took several of the stallions to lift the weak mare onto the stretcher and lift it up again. Without command, she was carried away, the colt left to follow along as best he could. Again the young kentaur was terrified by what was happening but refused to be parted from his mother.

Under the watchful gaze of the matron, mare and foal were both taken to one of the few shelters on the stallion lands. The mare was gently lowered to the covered floor and the tent was emptied, once more leaving mother and son alone. The solitude did not last, two more young stallions entered the tent a few moments later. They gently encouraged the mare to stand up and she reluctantly rose to her feet, but swayed unsteadily. The stallions stood to either side of her, offering their support, and the colt took the opportunity to nurse again.

More water and stew helped her to regain some of her strength and she allowed the stallions to gently bathe her before she was led to a prepared bed. The other stallion grabbed the small colt, ignoring his feeble struggles as he too was gently bathed, his short bristle of mane combed before he was released.

The gray colt trotted indignantly back to his mother's side, again ignored by the others as he curled up nearby for a nap. Life for mare and colt remained very much the same for several days, and the colt quickly got used to the coming and going of the stallions who cared for the needs of the two of them. Despite this constant care, his mother was slow to recover from the ordeal of the colt's birth. After only two weeks, the mare began to deny him the ability to nurse, then took to driving him away from her with nips and kicks. It was not long after that the stallions came and took him away with them when they left. The colt was never to see his mother again.

Eager brown eyes looked up into the sky, watching the twinkling of far away stars. The return of the sun would bring with it a new cycle of his life. The day of his birth would be exactly three years ago. He would finally be considered an adult and allowed to join the ranks of the stallions. His coat, a dark charcoal at his birth, had faded to a light dapple gray, his left hind leg bearing a white sock and a small splash of white dotted his forehead.

Despite coming of age, the colt was still smaller than any other member of the herd, even the colts a full year younger than himself. A glance at one such colt made him fold his ears in memory of vicious taunts, his flank marked with the scars of bites and kicks offered from the other, more competitive colts. After a moment, however, he turned his gaze back to the sky, eagerly awaiting the morning when it would all fade to nothing but bitter memories.

There was no fanfare or celebration to mark the colt's rise to adulthood, nor did he expect any of the others to take note of the change he felt in himself, filled with an intense drive and sense of purpose that could no longer be ignored.

Unlike the mares, who roamed freely through all the kentaur territory, stallions stayed with the herd of their youth. While the stallions had no leader, each worked hard at their given tasks, doing their best to attract mares who protected them and choose from their number when it came time to mate. In return, the mares expected to be obeyed without question or complaint.

Colts, however, were not usually subject to the whims of the mares, allowed to grow up within the safety of the herd but not considered a part of it. With head held high, the dapple gray stallion approached the herd, preparing to choose his task for the day. His progress was stopped when he was approached by a mare.

The mare looked to be little older than himself, her own black coat marked with her own scars. "I have been sent to take you." She said with an authoritative neigh and flick of her ears. "Come, and do not be slow." Without waiting for a response, the black mare turned and began to gallop away. The newly-turned stallion followed as quickly as he could. As they left the territory of his herd, he wanted to ask why he had been summoned, but even if he had dared she kept enough distance ahead of him that he was never given the chance.

When they passed into the territory of another herd, the stallions all stopped what they were doing to watch the pair warily. The dapple gray hurried his pace as he felt the weight of their unwelcoming stares, knowing that if not for the mare he would swiftly be driven away. He let out a sigh as they finally left the other herd's boundaries, his relief nearly palpable, but minutes later the black mare slowed her pace as she brought him before yet another herd that was not his own.

This time, however, the other stallions ignored him, working at their various tasks as he was led to a small cluster of older mares that stood several feet away. With them was another stallion, but his folded ears and lowered head told that he was not happy to be there. All of them seemed to tower over the dapple gray runt as he got closer, bowing his head respectfully.

The mares all turned to look at him intently while the unhappy stallion looked away, his ears folded back against his skull. With a feeling of growing trepidation, Dapple approached the cluster, the black mare joining the others before she too turned to look at him. His own ears flipped back nervously as he came to stand before them, his head held low. He wondered briefly if he was being accused of doing something wrong.

"We have decided that you will replace him." One of the mares suddenly said without preamble, tilting her head to indicate the other unhappy looking stallion. "He will teach you the pointed-tooth tongue before he goes to them."

Dapple pulled forward one ear, confused and curious. "I accept the task asked of me." He replied politely, the mares all visibly relaxing. "But what are pointed-tooths and why do I need to learn their tongue?"

The mare who spoke before was the one to speak again. "He will explain all you need to know." With that, they all drifted away, leaving the two males alone.

The older stallion seemed to be in no hurry to explain anything, so the youngster waited patiently, his eyes looking over his new mentor curiously. The older stallion's coat was a dark brown that almost looked black, his body toned from years of labor. One of his eyes was a solid milky white while the other was a normal brown like his own. A few small crescent shaped scars marked his flanks, as they did Dapple's, a lingering reminder of the cruelty of youth. "So." The dark stallion finally spoke, turning his head to look at the colt with his good eye. There was a weariness there that could not be explained by work alone. "You have been chosen. Do you understand what that means?"

Dapple's ears pulled forward to listen. "No. The mares never told me anything but to come." He replied softly.

The elder nodded and gave a soft snort, once again turning his gaze away from the younger kentaur. "Walk with me and I will explain." He said softly, beginning to walk away. He waited patiently for Dapple to catch up and match his pace before he spoke again. "The pointed-tooths are mean and ugly brutes. If you are unfortunate, you may even see one before the mares send you to them. Once, in a time long before any of us were alive to remember, they kept to themselves and did not bother us. Now, they live only for destruction and war."

"Why is this?" Dapple asked, eyes wide in youthful innocence as he imagined all manner of horrible monsters.

The darker stallion let out another snort. "I do not have that answer." He said solemnly. "But now that they cause trouble, it angers the mares. Since the pointed-tooths are too stupid to speak our language, we must learn to speak theirs. Every now and then, one of us is sent to tell them to behave and does not return."

Dapple tilted his head as he listened. "Why won't we return? Are we not welcome after speaking with the pointed-tooths?"

"As welcome as we are now." The older stallion said. "But none have ever returned. A few times, severed heads were sent back, but apparently the mares did not give a desirable reaction, for they have not done so in many years."

Dapple froze in place as the older stallion's words began to sink in. The brown took a few more steps, then stopped and waited patiently while looking back over his shoulder at the startled youngling. It took Dapple several seconds to break out of his stupor and rejoined his teacher. "They...were killed? They'll kill us?" He asked in a squeak of a whinny.

"It is the most likely conclusion." The elder answered calmly. "We are chosen because we are wrong. No mare will choose us to sire foals, and the herds are full enough for their pleasures. We are better use to them as sacrifices to appease bitter neighbors."

A heavy silence fell between the two stallions as Dapple wrestled with his thoughts and the elder waited patiently for him to sort them out. "When will I be sent?" He finally asked, the question so soft it was almost missed by his mentor.

"When they need you." The dark stallion replied. "When the pointed-tooths cause trouble again, I will be sent to sort things out. Until then, I am to teach you what you will need to know of their language. Their tongue is as crude and unpleasant as they are, hard in the mouth and on the ears. It will be no more pleasure to teach you than it will be for you to learn."

"I understand." Dapple replied, lifting his head high as he felt the weight of his duty on his young shoulders. "My only desire is to please the mares and be of use to the herd."

The older stallion touched Dapple's neck approvingly at his words, words learned in youth and spoken so often that they had long since lost their meaning, but his eyes did not mirror the gesture. In the dark stallion's eyes, Dapple saw only resignation and defeat.

The days seemed to pass quickly, despite the long hours spent trying to learn common. As the older stallion had said, the words were harsh for both his mouth and ears, and he struggled to make his lips form the seemingly unnatural sounds. His teacher was patient, however, and soon he was able to form most of them fairly well, although he still struggled.

While he spent his time learning the foreign language, Dapple was able to keep his mind occupied enough that he did not think about the reason he was learning. He could avoid the coming reality that his destiny was already selected for him, and it was not what he wanted for himself.

It was not to last, however. The pair were resting after a particularly difficult lesson when the mares came. Without a word the dark stallion was summoned. He offered no goodbye to Dapple as he rose, giving only a single glance over his shoulder before following the mares away, and for the second time, someone important left Dapple's life forever.

The young stallion remained where he was, silently watching them leave. A glimmer of anger began to rise in him, but he quickly suppressed it. It was never a stallion's place to question a mare, and even worse to get upset about their decisions just because they adversely affected him. The most feeble mare was worth more than the most industrious stallion. These lessons were bred into the very bones of the kentaur. Reminders were given daily from the moment of birth.

With such reminders in mind, Dapple could not figure out why it was that the more he tried to bury his flicker of resentment, the more strongly it burned. And the more determined he became to not end up like the broken old stallion who's eyes had lost their drive.

With the rise of the first sun the following morning, Dapple searched out the nearest mares, quickly finding a small group preparing for practice sparing. They were wearing the woven armor made from the lashers, but all of the spines had been cut off to prevent injury. The whip-vines had also been shaved of their poisonous thorns. The whips, however, were rarely used during sparing matches, most of them being a test of strength and skill in close combat.

Settling himself nearby but out of the way, Dapple watched them closely. The mares gave him only the briefest of glances before deciding to ignore him completely. As the second sun began to crest the horizon, the collection of mares began to exchange friendly nuzzles before picking playful fights with each other.

Dapple was well aware that these mock-fights were considered training for the younger mares. Moving nothing but his eyes and his ears, the stallion committed every move to memory. After a few hours, the play fights ended and the mares galloped away, but Dapple did not follow. In his solitude, he rose and tried to imitate the mares he had been watching. He practiced until he was exhausted and the first sun was just beginning to disappear from the sky, but his movements remained clumsy and uncoordinated.

The months passed swiftly and Dapple continued his observations and imitations, slowly improving, but his attempts were still not as good as the mares he was imitating. At first the mares thought him odd to watch him so closely, and seemed both amused and perplexed when they caught him at his practice, but he offered them no explanation and paid no heed to their stares. After all, he reasoned to himself when he felt the weight of their stares, there was no rule against a stallion learning to fight. Just because it was not normally done didn't mean it couldn't be.

Despite all of his time spent emulating the playful attacks and dodges of the mares, however, Dapple was still just as clumsy as when he started. He finally realized that alone he would never accomplish anything; he needed an opponent.

He began with ghouls. Now and again, the reanimated bodies of the dead would find their way to the valley of the kentaurs, and the mares were expected to deal with them. They were usually fed to the lashers, carnivorous plants farmed by the stallions. The ghouls were slow and clumsy themselves, but the first time Dapple found himself pitted against one he took several nasty bites as it found it's way through his feeble defenses. Far from being discouraged, however, the young stallion grew only more determined, taking only a single day to heal before scouring the hilly plains for the next one.

Ghouls rarely came alone, instead seeming to prefer to travel in clots of five or six individuals. More than once, Dapple nearly found himself overwhelmed, and once even found himself pinned beneath a writhing mass of rotting bodies with snapping teeth and tearing claws. He took several more injuries as they attempted to devour him alive, and for a while he was sure they would succeed. When his fear turned to a bitter resignation, anger flooded the young stallion's veins with adrenaline, allowing him to kick and tear himself free, rising back onto his feet before trampling the remaining ghouls beneath his hooves.

None of the others paid him any mind as he limped back to the herd's territory, his coat matted with blood and rot. No one cared for him when the fever came, draining him of strength while setting his body on fire from the inside. When he begged for water, his throat parched and swollen, his requests went unheard. When a half empty bowl of stew was placed within reach, the young stallion almost didn't have the strength to eat it. It took almost all of his remaining energy just to extend his neck and stretch out a sandpaper tongue far enough to cross the lip of the clay bowl before it was able to splash down into the cold but soothing stew.

For time beyond his fevered comprehension, Dapple existed on the accidental charity of his herd while his body was wracked by infection. The night the fever finally broke, leaving the stallion with a chill from his sweat-dampened coat, Dapple decided that it was a lesson well learned to never let the ghouls overwhelm him again.

Driven by necessity, the young stallion learned to dodge, to repel and to watch his back even while fighting an opponent to his front. The lasher crops thrived with the amount of corpses fed to them and the mares were bored, unaware of his deeds. Too soon, however, Dapple outgrew the slow and predictable groups of undead, deciding that he needed a better challenge. He doubted the mares would spar with him and knew from experience that none of the other stallions had any interest in his doings, considering them nothing more than the amusements of a colt not yet ready for work.

It was during his usual wanderings that he met his first "pointed-tooth". The creature did not spot him immediately, giving the stallion ample time to study it. The first thing he noticed was that it only had two legs, like the ghouls, but it was still alive. It's greyish-green skin looked thick and rough, even from a distance. Its flat face was marred by two bottom teeth that grew up from its jaw, giving the creature its name among the kentaur. Its eyes were shaded under a heavy brow and its broad back was bent nearly double as it butchered some animal Dapple was unfamiliar with.

The seconds stretched into minutes as the stallion stood there watching the alien creature before it finally noticed his presence. It froze as it suddenly became aware of the stallion a few feet away, then turned around slowly to face him, thick lips peeling back to expose even more sharp teeth. A low growl came from the creature's throat like a feral beast. Dapple leaned slightly back, placing most of his weight on his back hooves in anticipation of the pointed-tooth's attack, but he was completely unprepared for the explosion of fury that attacked him.

Despite only having one opponent instead of a group, the young stallion was again shown how much of his training was lacking. Once again he barely managed to drag himself back to safety and was largely ignored as he took the time to heal. His mind constantly repeated the pointed-tooth's lightning slashes and thunderous blows as well as the terrible scream of blind fury emitted from the creature's throat as it charged him. The shock of it had held him still instead of defending against that first swing of the fist that nearly crippled him.

Dapple had barely gathered his wits enough to rear up and kick out, driving his foe a few precious steps away so that he had room to maneuver. But the respite had not lasted long. Soon the kentaur again found himself being smothered, his kicks ineffective as the smaller creature dodged them, and once even managed to catch the stallion's leg, jerking him harshly off balance and almost breaking the delicate bones in its strong grip. It was in shameful defeat that the stallion had fled his battle with the pointed-tooth, the two legged creature keeping up with him for some time before finally falling back, delivering occasional blows to the beaten stallion's flank.

Dapple was sure the pointed-tooth had let him escape. He had simply been toyed with, the bipedal monstrosity sensing immediately that the stallion was no fighter, and he had been sent home after being taught a lesson. This was an unexpected kindness that Dapple did not expect to be repeated. His lesson again well learned, his drive to improve only grew stronger.

Although not required of him, Dapple began to assist with the chores of the other stallions, using each to help improve himself. With the lashers, he forwent the usual masking salve and dodged the whipping thorn vines that sought to pull him to the hungry mouths hidden within the flowers. Weaving improved the speed and dexterity of his hands. Fetching water and stirring the stew pots built his strength. It was nearly a full year before he again trespassed onto pointed-tooth lands, yet he found the same green-skinned creature from before.

This time the pointed-tooth was carrying a bundle of furs when the stallion found it, the pelts piled high on its back. As it caught sight of Dapple, it paused in its trek and lifted a hand to shade its eyes from the brightness of the twin suns. It looked relaxed and unconcerned about the stallion, but Dapple was not taken in, remembering well the pointed-tooth's mercurial temper.

The stallion tossed his head and brayed his challenge, rearing up to paw at the sky. The pointed-tooth studied the stallion impassively, seeming to consider whether or not to answer his challenge. Suddenly it was charging, the dropped bundle of furs not even having reached the ground before the stallion felt the first blow of his opponent's large fist.

Dapple had thought he was ready, but the jagged tooth managed three more solid blows before he could return one of his own. After the initial burst of surprise, the stallion did find his ability to fend off the worst of his opponent's punches had improved, but he was still soundly beaten by the time he fled back to the herd.

Determined to defeat the pointed-tooth, Dapple doubled his self training, working harder than any stallion in the herd when not watching the mares in their mock battles or disposing of wandering packs of ghouls.

For the first time, several mares began to take a genuine interest in the young stallion, talking among themselves about selecting another to be sent to the pointed-tooths, despite his being a runt. Such a hard worker, they reasoned, with such determination, would sire strong and determined fillies.

Dapple paid them no mind in return, however, consumed by his goals. Weeks later, he determined he was ready to face the pointed-tooth once more and finally win. Running at his fastest gallop, he made his way to the border of kentaur lands and looked for his old opponent, disappointed when he didn't see the other. The ruined land looked deserted of all life save for a single circling bird high in the sky. Frowning, the young stallion stepped further into the forbidding landscape, his eyes searching for any sign of a pointed-tooth.

He had never seen such a devastated landscape. The ground was littered with pot-holes and long-rotted tree stumps. Dust rose up with every step he took, coating his underbelly with a fine layer of clay, the soft topsoil long since eroded away. A lone thorny weed stretched out of the ground, one tiny tendril stretching desperately toward the sky before being crushed beneath the kentaur's hooves.

Far in the distance he could hear the sounds of cheering and snarling. Something was keeping the pointed-tooths busy, and he was curious as to what it was, but given everything he already knew about them, he didn't want to just walk into the middle of the event. With nothing to hide behind, Dapple bent as low as he could, moving forward in an awkward semi-crawl, but nothing came out to attack him.

After several feet of seeing nothing threatening, Dapple straightened back up and made his way closer to the cheers until the vague outline of a city became clear in the dusty haze. Dapple paused as the outline of the towering walls became clear to him.

"So, you came back again, you stubborn beast." A voice spoke up to his right. Understanding only half of the words he heard, the kentaur turned his head to see the very creature he had come looking for. The pointed-tooth was shaking his head, the corner of his mouth curled upward in an amused smirk. "It's too early in the year for them to be sending us another chew toy for the pups. So why do you keep coming back?"

"Come...fight....you." Dapple said haltingly, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts as he turned to face the other. "Learn....protect."

The creature's bottom jaw fell and it's eyes widened in shock. "You can speak, can you? Fancy trick for an animal." It responded. "What a pity I have to kill you. It might have been nice to make you a pet for the children."

"Not... ani-" Before Dapple could finish his protest, his opponent was letting out a deafening battle cry and charging at him. The young stallion whirled around and kicked out with his hind legs, catching the pointed-tooth full in the chest and knocking him back several steps, but the other recovered quickly. Giving only another smirk, the stallion's opponent leapt at him, closed fist landing a solid blow to his cheek. Dapple kicked out with a foreleg and felt his hoof graze the pointed-tooth, but the other was still too fast for him despite his bulk.

Dapple was growing frustrated and tossed his head to shake off the punch, then folded back his ears in anger before charging the pointed-tooth, intending to trample it beneath him, but his opponent rolled aside just before he reached the place it was standing, leaving the kentaur's hooves only more dust to strike. A heavy cloud rose as he circled, obscuring the stallion's view and driving him to a near panic. He was deep within the enemy's own territory and facing a difficult rival. To lose sight of that rival was almost certainly to mean his death.

As he had feared, the thick-skinned pointed-tooth appeared out of nowhere, landing on the kentaur's equine back and kicking him hard with its course heels. Rough hands grabbed his mane and tugged hard. "H'yah!" The pointed-tooth yelled, giving his flanks another rough kick.

Dapple screamed in terror and reared, kicking out wildly with his forelegs while shaking his head. The frantic movements nearly caused him to topple over, but the pointed-tooth clung fast. Frightened and confused, the young stallion began to buck and rear, throwing himself in random directions in an attempt to throw his unwanted rider, but nothing he did could budge his opponent.

The rock should have been large enough to be noticed by the kentaur, but he was too and focused on the dangerous enemy on his back. His foreleg crashed hard into the side of the rock, causing his hoof to land unsteadily. Scrambling for purchase only further unbalanced him, making him fall forward toward the ground, his body spinning into an awkward flip. The pointed-tooth finally shoved itself away from him just before he landed heavily, but not soon enough to avoid getting a leg crushed under Dapple's body. The stallion felt the faintest spurt of relief that it was gone before the pain began to overwhelm his already taxed senses.

Dizzy, his body in agony, the stallion could only lay still with his eyes tightly clenched, remaining conscious by strength of will alone. His nostrils were clogged with dust and he had to snort several times before he could breath again. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to lie still. It hurt even more to move.

Dapple opened his eyes as he heard uneven footsteps approaching. The pointed-tooth was limping towards him, and the stallion was helpless to defend himself. He could only lay there and watch as his opponent approached, then stopped mere inches from his head. The blood-colored dust slowly sank onto the pointed-tooth's bare feet as it stood there looking down at the unmoving kentaur. After several seconds of silence, it lowered itself into a squat. The pointed-tooth's injured leg was held out to the side while it leaned its weight on the other, continuing to regard the stallion silently. "Best get yourself out of here before they release the hyolfs." The pointed-tooth warned, it's gruff voice soft, then rose back up again before limping away.

Dapple blinked in disbelief. He was still alive. Giving a deep sigh of relief, he decided to think about what had happened later and closed his eyes, falling into a restorative unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes again, the darkness was all encompassing, and he wondered if he were still asleep. After a few seconds, however, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness of nightfall and he could see the twinkling of far away stars.

Still aching, the stallion began to move his body experimentally, wincing as he discovered bruises and sprains. With a snort and low wicker of discomfort, he began to roll over onto his feet, but was stopped when he heard the first howl.

The howl was quickly answered by another, and another, and still another until it became a chorus of voices that were no less terrifying than the pointed-tooth's battle call. The kentaur rose quickly to his feet, feeling his panic returning as instinct told him that he was suddenly in much more danger than he ever was with the pointed-tooth. The howls continued as they grew closer, seeming to surround him, freezing him in place.

The stallion felt his sore legs begin to tremble as he stood in place, sweat wetting his coat. His ears began to swivel rapidly, tracking the approaching beasts that had already caught his scent, rising howls filling the darkness, drowning out even the thundering of his heart. Closer still, they were almost on him and still he could see nothing. The chorus of howls was deafening as they moved in, surrounding him, just beyond sight. The stallion's head jerked rapidly in different directions, trying to catch even a glimpse of his stalkers as they moved into position, but he could see only darkness.

The pain was forgotten in the wake of the new threat, his aching muscles tightening to the point of near injury, and still he could not move a step. They were around him now. He could hear the rasp of their panting, the thump of heavy paws, the growl of hunting predators, and then suddenly, there was nothing but silence.

Instinct alone guided the frightened stallion, causing him to kick outward with his hind leg at the faintest tickle of breath on his hock. The click of snapping teeth proceeded the yelp of a started beast by the merest of an instant

It was only a graze, but it was enough to send the stallion into a terrified bolt, half rearing to trample down a large shaggy form that appeared in front of him. More snarls and the snapping of teeth followed closely behind.

Without the light of the moons, which had not yet risen, Dapple barely had time to avoid the obstacles in his path, spotting rocks and tree stumps only moments before he reached them. The snarling and snapping at his heels gave him no chance to slow down or even attempt to defend himself.

As the chase dragged on, the stallion felt sure he would collapse of exhaustion. His legs were no longer sure in their steps and he was beginning to stumble more often. His lungs felt fit to burst and his heart was thudding almost loud enough to drown out the sounds of the predators behind him.

When the hard packed clay finally gave way to the soft grass of the plains, Dapple felt an extra burst of energy, the last of his reserves. The snarls and howls began to fade as the predators lagged behind, unwilling to pursue their prey into territory that was not their own. The stallion slowed his pace only when he was sure there was no further danger, his exhausted body growing stiff and unresponsive as the last of the adrenaline began to fade from his veins. Finally, too tired to take another step, the stallion lowered himself to the ground and slept.

Morning brought with it more pain as the young stallion awoke, his muscled cramped and stomach roiling. Weeping gashes and tooth marks along his flank spoke mute testament to his trial. For a full day he stayed where he was, moving only to stretch a cramping limb or change his position on the grass. The following day finally allowed him to limp back to his home in order to heal.

For several weeks, Dapple walked with a pronounced limp and would often shy away from any task that required him to use his left arm. He entertained no further thoughts of straying to the wasteland of the pointed-tooths, nor did he bother to watch the mares in their practice combat. He offered no protest when the mares brought a young colt to him to pass on his knowledge of the pointed-tooths and what words of common he could share.

The colt was a runt, like Dapple, but with shortened forelegs, forcing him to walk with an unnatural hobble. His rust-colored coat bore the same scars of Dapple's youth, remnants of cruel teasing. With a resigned acceptance, the stallion took the colt as his apprentice, just as his long past mentor before him. As colt and stallion spent their days together, Dapple saw a determination in the younger kentaur's eyes that he recognized from his own youth. It was at that moment that he understood the sad eyes of the old dark stallion. It was not his own fate that had made the older stallion so listless, it was, as Dapple now felt, the inevitable future of the young colt before him.

It was at that moment that Dapple finally understood the way of the herds, as well as the cycle he found himself in. At that moment, he felt that nothing he could do would ever change it. Nothing would ever change at all.

It was only days later that the disillusioned stallion was to be proven wrong when chaos itself came barreling into the herd lands. Dapple had been tending the field of lashers when a cluster of ghouls came shambling into view. For the first time, the ghouls were also accompanied by two figures draped completely in black cloth. The mares were already on their way to deal with the threat, so Dapple paid it no further mind, until a strange sound made him raise his head again.

It was similar to the pointed-tooth's war cry, yet somehow worse. It reminded him more of the shaggy predators that had chased him from the land. Both curious and afraid, Dapple followed after the mares to see what had caused the awful noise.

The creature Dapple spotted was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Tusk-like horns sprouted from the side of the creature's head, and it had a heavy, muscular body like that of the pointed-tooths, yet its two legs ended in large hooves, and it had a head more like a kentaur than the flat-faced pointed-tooth he had seen. It was also covered in fur, just like a kentaur. Dapple wondered if it was somehow the hybrid offspring between pointed-tooth and kentaur.

With a weapon unfamiliar to the stallion, the stranger attacked one of the robed figures, beheading it before blundering unprotected into the lasher crop to attack the already-trapped ghouls. Briefly he wondered if the creature was aware of the venom stored in the lashers' sharp thorns, but it was too late to offer a warning to such a foolish creature. He expected the stranger to be devoured along with the ghouls, but instead, it began to thrash about, uprooting several plants not yet ready for harvest and ruining many of the lashing vines that gave the crop its name.

Dapple and the mares watched the stranger while standing on the opposite side of the crop, the mares nickering angrily to each other with increasing irritation and curiosity,. Eventually, after inflicting enough damage that the lasher plants withdrew, the creature crawled its way free of the crop and knelt down on the grass, pulling vines from its limbs. Dapple followed the mares as they approached, surrounding the strange creature.

"What is a tarin doing out here?!" One of the other mares neighed. "Runt, go talk to it. You've been taught their language, you can speak for all of us."

Bobbing his head in acceptance, Dapple stepped forward. "No happy... you?" He said shyly, looking down at the thing.

"I've been better." The stranger panted, the lasher venom already taking effect. The tarin looked up at him with large brown brown eyes before shifting their gaze to take in the mares behind him. "Are you guys the welcoming committee?"

The tarin's words meant nothing to him, so he looked back uncertainly at the mares. "Go on, tell her that you speak for us. We don't speak their tongue." The oldest of them prompted.

Dapple turned back to the tarin and searched his memory for the right words. "We no speak..... I speak for all." He said, waving a hand to indicate the mares.

"Understood." The stranger replied, straightening up and favoring one leg.

Behind him, one of the mares snorted in annoyance. "Tell it that we're very displeased that it's gone and ruined our trap." She urged him.

Dapple knew this was not true, the mares cared nothing about the lasher crops, if they failed or were destroyed, they would simply move on to a more prosperous territory. Their true issue lay in the trespass itself, but he would relay the message without question. "We no happy... you... ruin." Dapple spoke haltingly, struggling to find the right words in a language that was not his own. "Ruin... trap. No happy."

"Yeah, it happens." The stranger replied with a shrug, turning away from the kentaurs before muttering something else the stallion did not understand. He repeated her response to the mares, who began to chatter angrily among themselves before giving him orders once again.

"I bet it was sent here by the not-dead king!" One of them stated. "Ask if he sent it."

"He's been sending his not-dead pets here since the pointed-tooths destroyed the forest barrier." Said another. "He wants our land and our lives. Tell it that no kentaur will ever be his slave!"

"It certainly_smells_ like one of the not-dead." Complained another.

Dapple understood little of what they were talking about. He had no idea who the not-dead king was nor anything about the barrier they had mentioned, but he did his best to translate their message.

"Why does everyone keep thinking someone else sent me?" the stranger grumbled in answer. "I'm just passing through. But who's the pointed tooth and what wall are you talking about?"

The stallion flipped back his ears, but answered. "Pointed-tooths live on edge of kentaur lands. They have... long tooths... ? Can't keep teeth in mouth." He explained, moving his hands to either side of his mouth and pointing his index fingers upward. "Angry. Always angry."

"Oh. You mean orks." the stranger replied with a nod of understanding. "Good. Just the people I'm looking for."The word was foreign to the stallion, and just as distasteful to him as the rest of the common language, but more distasteful was that the half-breed stranger was seeking out the pointed-toothed creatures willingly. He gave a soft snort as memory of his most recent encounter skittered across his mind. "How far away is it? How many days of travel?"The stranger asked, pulling his attention back from his mind's eye.

"No far for kentaur." The stallion said calmly.

"Great." The stranger replied. "Then I'll just get my pack and be on my way then." But the group did not move as Dapple relayed the response back to the mares, all of them staring at the tarin with hostile glares, although the stranger did not seem bothered by their ire.

"I knew it!" One of the mares snapped. "Someone so destructive could only be connected to them."

"We should kill it!" Another demanded. "And send its corpse to the pointed-tooths!"

"No." Said the oldest of the group. "The tarin must fix what it has destroyed. Stallion, tell the beast that we will give it the cure to the flayer venom after it fixes the crop. If it lives, then we will decide what to do with it. If it dies, the flayers will make short work of its corpse and save us the trouble."

The others murmured agreement and all eyes turned back to Dapple. "No." He finally said to the waiting tarin. "You ruin... must bring in now. You." He pointed at her blood-soaked limbs. "Need... wellness? No... make wellness." He paused a moment, searching for the right words to convey his message. "Flayers... make sick."

"Aw hell." The tarin said in resignation. "You mean to tell me I've been poisoned by your damn flower garden?"

Dapple nodded and pointed again. "You help, we give wellness."

A short time later, the mares lost interest and left as the stranger was set to work harvesting the damaged and dying flayers, Dapple put in charge of guarding against escape. But the tarin never bothered to try. In fact, the stallion was largely ignored as the stranger worked, its limbs obviously becoming increasingly stiff and slower to respond as it worked.

Dapple could only admire the tenacity of the stranger, as well as its hardiness. A lesser creature would have long ago succumb to the paralysis of the venom. None of the mares expected the stranger to live, but Dapple found himself hoping the tarin would indeed survive. He wanted to know more about the stranger and its people. Were all of them like this one? If so they would be a formidable force indeed, even for the best of the mares.

When the last of the damaged flayers had been harvested and the stranger stepped free of the crop, Dapple hurried over with the anit-venom, thrusting the cup at the sitting form. "Drink." He demanded, but the creature ignored him. "Drink!" He ordered again, beginning to worry that it was too late. "Must drink!" He pleaded. When the tarin still did not respond, he bent down and grabbed its head, tilting it back and pouring the anti-venom into the tarin's mouth before letting go.

The stranger's eyes were clenched tightly shut as if it was in severe pain, and the stallion watched closely, wondering if his efforts were in vain. When the tarin's facial features suddenly relaxed and the creature collapsed limply to the ground, he worried that it had died. Kneeling down beside the tarin, Dapple saw the flare of it's large nostrils, indicating that it still lived. He tried to pull the unconscious form onto his back, but the tarin was far too big for him to lift in such an awkward position, so he gathered up the creature's hooves in his arms, rose to his feet, and began to slowly drag it back to the herd.

The other stallions watched him with confusion and contempt as he dragged the still-sleeping tarin into one of the few shelters, one of them asking why he was bringing home such a foul-smelling corpse, but he did not bother to explain himself to any of them.

The tarin wore armor that Dapple was unfamiliar with, the material not woven like that produced and worn by the kentaur, but instead made of some sort of hard, solid substance and loosely covered in a mesh chain that he had seen worn by the occasional pointed-tooth. It was badly soiled, so after some fumbling he finally figured out how to remove it, carrying it with him to the river as he gathered water. Weighting the armor with large rocks, he left it in the shallow of the river to soak before filling a large bowl with water and heading back to the stranger.

With gentle care he dribbled the icy water along the tarin's arms and legs, gently wiping away the blood and dust to expose the coat of blood bay fur beneath. Once the wounds had been cleansed, the stallion used the remaining water to begin washing the stranger's body. As he washed away more of the filth covering the odd stranger, the more he noticed similarities between his own kind and the tarin.

Suddenly his ears flipped back and he froze in place. Despite the differences between the two races, they were similar enough for Dapple to realize his dreadful mistake. Dropping the rough cloth he had been using, he rose to his feet, his inquiring eyes looking over the tarin in full. A slow, mournful groan escaped the stallion's throat as his suspicions were confirmed.

Having little hope of redemption, Dapple wheeled around and bolted for the doorway of the small shelter, rearing up on his hind legs once outside. "Mare! Mare!" He neighed loudly, gathering the attention of every stallion within earshot. "Mare needs assistance!"

All other tasks were immediately forgotten as the stallions rushed over to the shelter.

Dapple was just coming back from the river when he heard the call that the tarin "mare" had awoken and he was needed. Careful not to spill the bowl of water he carried, Dapple hurried over to the shelter, relieved to see that she was up and walking without the stiffness of the lasher poison. He offered her the bowl of water, bending his forelegs slightly so the bowl was within easy reach. "Thirsty you?"

"No, I've got..." The tarin began, her words halted as her hand clutched empty air at her hip. "I had... something. Where are all of my things?"

"Dirty. Very dirty. Like mare." Dapple replied apologetically. "Clean soon. Herd no happy." Thinking that she did not trust him, and for good reason after his behavior, the stallion lowered his head and took a drink from the bowl of water to prove it was safe. "Water good. Thirsty you?" He offered again.

"I need a translator for the translator." The tarin muttered and began walking away. Dapple set down the bowl and followed a short distance behind.

The "mare" seemed interested in the various chores being performed by Dapple's herd mates, and he felt a brief pang of shame that he was caught not working along with them, but the needs of a mare always came first.

"Hey, pony boy." She called out to him finally. "Where are all of your females? I remember seeing some yesterday. Are they all still sleeping?"

Dapple shrugged as he answered, surprised that she, as a "mare" herself, did not already know the answer to her own question. "Mares do... mares want do. Stallions do work so mares keep. Lazy stallion no mare want."

The tarin paused and glanced back at him. "What do you mean by 'mares do mares want do'? You mean they don't do anything to help?"

Dapple tilted his head slightly, wondering if she was teasing him, or testing him for some strange reason. "Mares... lead." He explained paitently. "Mares... fight. Stallions no fight. If mares happy, they keep stallions. If no happy, they leave herd. Keep mares happy so stay with herd. No mare, no herd."

"Understood." The tarin said flippantly, losing interest in the topic. "So where did you say my things were?"

The stallion was confused by the sudden jump in topic and the repeated question, but he recovered quickly. Lifting his head, he sent out a call to the stallion in charge of cleaning and repairing her possessions. The call came back that he would be done shortly. "No here. Soon." He paused and looked around a moment to gather his thoughts, nervous about the reaction to his next words. Finally he turned his attention back to the tarin. "You work hard like stallion." The young male continued, following beside her as she started wandering again. "Mares want keep, but no keep mares. So I here."

"You didn't already know I was a... mare, this whole time?" The tarin asked, her offended tone making the stallion nervous.

"No..." He answered earnestly. "No make work if know. But not kentaur." He bowed his head shamefully before continuing. "Not know pointed-tooths also. Not kentaur, not know." He was sure she would attack him at his words, or drive him away.

"Orks all look the same to me too." She replied instead, her tone dismissive as she once again lost interest in the topic. "What's going on over there?"

For several hours Dapple escorted the tarin about the camp, explaining what the stallions were doing an why, offering her food and their own kind of armor. Too soon, however, she insisted on leaving, none of the stallion's questions asked. Her cleaned and mended items returned, she turned to the stallion once more. "Well, pony boy, it's been fun and all, but I really need to be going. How far is it to ork territory?"

Dapple turned to look around at his herd land. The other stallions gave the pair occasional glances, but kept themselves busy with their tasks. The mares were nowhere to be seen, but he knew they were not far away, likely practicing their fighting or taking care of the ghouls. It was not a hard life nor too unpleasant, but it was not the life for the dapple gray stallion. He could not bring himself to remain here, knowing that one day soon he would be send to the pointed-tooths to die. He made a sudden decision then to follow the strange "mare". It was not usually done, stallions only following mares when told to do so, but he had made a habit of doing things not usually done. "I... take. Happy you?" He finally asked.

"Take me where? Happy about what?" The tarin asked with an annoyed flick of her ears. "You've got to speak better common than this, pony boy. Even the Kin put together better sentences."

Dapple did not know what the Kin were, but he bowed his head shamefully at upsetting her. "I... take with you. To pointed-tooth land. Create... no... make... make happy, you?"

"Are you offering me a ride or just an escort?" The tarin asked as she strapped on her sword, pulling it out to inspect the polished blade.

Again the stallion's head dipped and rose. "Mare do as mare want."

With those words, the two of them went off together, their fates becoming intertwined for the rest of their lives. To the city of the orks he followed her, and then beyond. Through dangers worse than anything that poor stallion could ever dream possible, he followed his "mare", rarely leaving her side. He would have followed her to hell itself if she'd ever taken mind to go there.

Nadirah tolerated him at first, though she suffers no fools, and in the passing of time she began to call him friend. She even gave him a name, Jori. My but that little fella was proud of that name. And like that of Nadirah Wolfcaller, the name of Jori the Relentless would be forever remembered by all he encountered.

Ah, but the hour is late and that is a story for another night. Now you be safe out there, friend, the long hours of the night are not always welcome to travelers. But I'll be here when you return, just ask for Ol' Teller. You see, I know all the stories, and I know them well. I'll be happy to tell them to you when you come back to see me.

Until then, be safe on your journey, friend, and may only light and goodness find you until we meet again.