intro: why won't you lead the rest of your cavalry home
Good day, Xanadu. Prepare yourself for yet another what you see may not be what you get moment!
Going strictly by outward appearances, it would seem that a dark grey horse makes a sudden entrance to the agora, bolting in from a side alley at full gallop and abruptly pulling up short at the clatter of hooves on paving. He stands about fifteen hands high, mane and tail immaculately groomed, coat gleaming, but completely innocent of bridle or halter. "He" in this case means a stallion, if anyone bothers to check. The animal swings his head from one side, then to the other, then lifts his nose to the breeze for a sniff. He blows out his breath in an emphatic snort, though whether in disgust, exasperation or relief is anyone's guess.
A small percentage of Xanadu's denizens will be able to tell that what stands here is something other than our friend Equus ferus caballus. A vanishingly small number might be able to tell not only what he really is, but who he really is.
But unless one of that number shows up, what you have is a mildly embarrassed púca standing in the amphitheater, wondering if he can possibly find a private spot to transform.
Going strictly by outward appearances, it would seem that a dark grey horse makes a sudden entrance to the agora, bolting in from a side alley at full gallop and abruptly pulling up short at the clatter of hooves on paving. He stands about fifteen hands high, mane and tail immaculately groomed, coat gleaming, but completely innocent of bridle or halter. "He" in this case means a stallion, if anyone bothers to check. The animal swings his head from one side, then to the other, then lifts his nose to the breeze for a sniff. He blows out his breath in an emphatic snort, though whether in disgust, exasperation or relief is anyone's guess.
A small percentage of Xanadu's denizens will be able to tell that what stands here is something other than our friend Equus ferus caballus. A vanishingly small number might be able to tell not only what he really is, but who he really is.
But unless one of that number shows up, what you have is a mildly embarrassed púca standing in the amphitheater, wondering if he can possibly find a private spot to transform.