Chapter Eight
“The Archigos War Horse is a terrible thing to behold, especially if one is meeting it in battle. They are a sleek, strong embodiment of their riders: Warriors of Fame.
—Customs of Exotics; Lorn VacLell
Wind and motion. Freedom and ability. Speed and talent. Past and present collided in a dance as poetic as the moon herself, yet as deadly as the fiery sun. An undulating sea of blackness: flowing mane, cutting hooves, flexing muscle and the pull of sinew.
Zellan charged towards his target. His black eyes were wide with excitement, his mouth dry with anticipation. His dull coat of molting season was now lathered in exertion. Rhiannon pushed him hard, careening towards their victim. Slowly she raised her sword, its steel tip glistening in the spring sun. She raised her face
