The night was still almost, spite the soft breeze that played teasingly with the branches of the trees. Above, the moon gave small lighting on the night as a cremello behemoth moved threw the new lands. Before him, he stopped, the stone walls of the labyrinth towered up, closer to the sky. The beginning of a malicious grin curved on the boy's labarums. His pink labarums were stained crimson, there by the blood of lights and darks alike. He had no respect for others, unless they were beneath his power. Oh, yes. Power was his desire.
Hardly finding a sound to make, he stepped towards it, his crania lowering to hover above the ground as he sniffed the ground, a huff of old soil wafered up and tickled his nose, causing him to snort and shake his dial. The chill night was lit up suddenly with a crack of loud thunder. No, no rain spilled, but it was a dry storm. He moved into the winding halls of the labyrinth, raising his dail and looking around. It was quiet. His labarums parted and a deep rumbling nicker escaped his larynx. The deep noise vibrated off the walls and he moved foreward again, into a lope. He had no time to get lost on a night like this. Turning sharply, he rounded the corner down the open hall, grinning at his footing and moving faster. He didn't know where he was going, he was actually taking wild guesses. Hah. After a few turns and dead-ends, he made it to the end where he loped into a opening. Seeing a large well in the middle of the ground, he dug his haunches into the ground and skid to a stop. Growling softly, he lowered his head and peered into the hole. It reeked with death and dead corpse. Moving around it, he seen a case of broken and missing stairs. "Hmph. No way in hell am I going down there," he murmured to himself. He grinned and raised his head and looked around. To the side of the walls, a small flight of cracked, stone stairs led to a platform of weeds poking threw cracks of stone. He gave a light chuckle. He knew what made this; the humans. He had heard tales from the horses in his lineage, and they heard from others. Myths, legends and fairytales all came down to one thing to him and that was nonsence. He had thought the tales were spoken of to give horses and humans alike, something to chase after. It was just nonsence and pathetic lies. However, he thought to amusement with tales like with the boogy-man. Not in one tale, did they mention that he disappeared. His sire always thought of his son as the boogy-man. Even if his son had a pure off-white chromosone. Hah. The great sire was the colour of blood. A thick blood-bey mustang stallion. He had tried to make Legion just like himself and yet Legion, as a foal, glared coldly at him every moment. When the sire got into battles, Legion only hoped silently that his father would fail. When the stallion grazed alone, Legion would watch him silently, daring himself to attack him. At this point, I shouldn't need to tell you who murdered the 'great' sire.
Legion moved towards the steps and climbed up in a quick pace and slid onto the platform. At this point, he was closer to the sky and could peer over the top of the stone walls.
Now, now. He was starting to feel lonely.
Coil of white flicked his rump and flinched his canvas, being satisfied as the pests flew away from his cremello skin.