| Atop a snowcovered hill… |
| Just before sunset… |
| «Waiting atop a snowcovered hill, the two standing silent, facing the |
| sunset in the west. The one eyed old man mumbling strange words into the |
| cold air. The haze spreading fast across the purple and blue vault. The |
| winds taking up speed, bending the trees down the valley, throwing the snow |
| crystals up and against the mountainside into gigantic sparkling clouds |
| high in the sky. The voice of the one eyed old man becoming stronger. The |
| words now spoken with increased intensity as if he was calling someone or something. And so a hazy white figure appears on the horizon, blazing |
| across the sky with the speed of the winds… a part of the wind. A horse |
| as white as snow, galopping across the mist, its eight hooves blistering |
| like bolts of lightning. The one eyed old man crying out loud in the blaze |
| to him, to take its reins and not to let go. |
| And thus he had been given The Stallion…» |
| Tendons and muscles of steel. |
| And the blaze of lightning in its eyes. |
| White as the snow on the hills. |
| And it’s reins, that I hold, they are mine. |
| This stallion and sword in exchange |
| for my heart and both of my eyes. |
| The ravens of swift wings my sight |
| Surely now victory must be mine. |
| Eight legged stallion of mine. |
| Run with the speed of the winds. |
| Eight legged stallion I stride. |
| Run as if you carried wings. |
| I paint thee with the blood from my veins |
| Images of origin long lost. |
| I adorn your white mane and tail |