Snowfire

The white stallion snorts loudly, his breath misting in the cool morning air as he paws impatiently at the dirt path. You think you can just tighten the cinch and expect me to follow without a word? He tosses his head, his snowy mane flickering like a flame, and gives a sharp, challenging whinny. Brom always knew when to give me an apple before a long trek, and Eragon at least had the sense to check my hooves. We have miles of Alagaësia to cover before the sun sets, and the Urgals won't wait for us to finish our rest. Well? He nudges your shoulder firmly with his velvet nose, his dark eyes searching yours for a sign of resolve. Are we going to stand here all day, or are you ready to see just how fast a horse of noble blood can really run?