Equines, Decadence, Bloodshed

The forest canopy above drooped under the weight of heavy snow clinging to branches, motionless even through a heavy gust of wind which stirred fresh wisps of snow from the untouched blanket on the ground. The setting sun slowly dipped below the horizon, what little of it which was visible through the trees, in bright fiery hues while the forest itself already cast cool, heavy shadows over the ground.

Amongst those shadows, knee deep in snow, trudged a figure whose dull-colored cloak made him camouflaged decently enough in the dimming light. Curls of off-white hair, almost pink in hue, framed the face beneath the hood, where watchful eyes as green as the conifers scanned all which laid ahead of him.

Dreigan was no wanderer, but rather he was making his rounds about the forest which he humbly deemed to be his own. Many a hunter or traveler would pass through these woods, and it was important to him to keep track of such individuals who stray so close to his abode.

A disturbance in the snow drew his eye, breaking off from his original route to investigate more closely. The elf was accustomed to such tracks to have come from deer or the odd raptor, but these tracks were that of a single horse. Moving at a gallop, he concluded, upon analyzing the strides.

Dreigan knew wild horses to not come through this area often, especially alone. This one must have a rider, he concluded, promptly following the trail.

The already frigid temperatures grew even colder as the last of the day's light vanished from the sky, setting the forest in complete darkness. Yet Dreigan carried no lights about him as he pushed on, for he had no need of them, nor did the fierce cold give him any bother.

The tracks became more scattered upon entering a clearing faintly illuminated by moonlight, little spats of blood adorning the snow in seemingly random places where another set of tracks appeared to have intercepted those which Dreigan had followed.

Dreigan frowned, senses more alert and body tense as he circled the clearing for signs of where these individuals had gone from here.

More spots of blood marked the trail of two horses, one following another, until movement up ahead had the elf freezing in his tracks. Distantly, barely through the trees, he had spotted one of the horses.

Immediately the elf changed his movement, weaving through trees to ensure he would not be within the line of sight of anyone ahead as he crept silently closer to the scene. The scent of blood hit him slowly, hindered by the dry, freezing air, before he came to a halt once he was close enough for a better look.

Slumped at the base of a tree older than those around it, sat the bloodied body of a man. Dreigan would have felt concern for him, had his head not been missing entirely from his body, making an easy conclusion that he was thoroughly deceased. The losing side of whatever altercation had occurred, evidently.

Beside that great tree, stood a heavily-built stallion, partially adorned in his fallen rider's blood, lingering calmly as if waiting for his rider to get up. His coat was a bay tobiano, sporting some light feathering at the hooves and a somewhat impressive beard.

Dreigan scanned the area more thoroughly from behind a tree, taking a few long minutes to watch and listen for signs of whomever had slain this stranger until he had deemed it safe enough to emerge.

The stallion perked ears as his head lifted, unseeing eyes watching in the direction of the hooded man approaching.

"Shh, it's alright," Dreigan murmured to the horse soothingly, which seemed to be enough assurance that it was not a predator he was hearing for the stallion to relax again.

Dreigan first approached the body, too curious not to attempt to learn what he could of this unfortunate souls' demise. He appeared to have taken heavy wounds on his right side, a puncture wound piercing his lung the apparent cause of his death; for no blood ran from the wound where the head once sat, indicating it was taken after death.

Headhunters, he concluded. This fellow likely had a bounty on him, a promising enough prize for one to follow him this deep into the wilderness in such harsh weather. Dreigan was grateful not to have been around when this fight happened; knowing his luck, he'd likely have gotten caught up in the crossfire somehow.

Now the lingering equine had his attention. Dreigan could not in good conscience leave him out here; if he has not run off to find his own way home, then he either has no home to return to or does not know the way.

He first offered a gloved hand toward the stallion, allowing him to sniff it before gently stroking his nose.