Cain

[Hazel]

CAIN ______________________________________________________

^{CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE}

AGE
5 Years

GENDER
Stallion

PERSONALITY
Cain thinks fast and acts faster. Sounds like a good trait for a herd leader, right? Wrong; Cain is brash and bold, much like his stature. He doesn't think of every outcome to his actions, instead commanding others to do as he plans and probably getting them all hurt in the process. Yet he seems to come off lightly, leaving the battered and bruised in his wake. See, Cain has little by way of a conscience. He doesn't think about anyone but himself and the bigger scheme of things. He is highly competitive, and would do anything to win, even if it costs a life. Bluntly honest about everything, he is never afraid to speak his mind. He can be controlling and dominant, even when he isn't trying to be. Its simply how he was brought up - survival of the fittest; act fast or get killed. Who cares if your team mate is shot down besides you? Just be thankful you the barrel of the gun wasn't pointing a little more to the left or else you would be the one bleeding in the sand. It might seem selfish to others, but to Cain its life. Death does not phase him at all.

Its not that he is evil or likes to see others suffer - not at all. Its that he is immune to it. He is so used to seeing others die that he no longer cares. Everyone dies; get used to it. Needless to say he isn't loyal, nor is he very caring, but he is demanding and strong willed. He's the type of horse you could follow and believe he is right; believe he can save you. But in the end, you just end up as fodder, taken down whilst he batters through unharmed, never looking back.


PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Cain stands tall at 18 hands, taller than the average 17.3 for his breed, the Percheron, his bodice thick and muscular yet he is more nimble than one would expect. His pelt is a medium grey with white and light grey dapples upon his haunches and across his back and rump, and his muzzle is dark grey, verging on black as are the tips of his ears. His ankles are slightly darker than his pelt, though the thick tufts of fur behind his ankles are faded white at the ends. His mane and tail are medium grey, fading to darker grey at the tips. His eyes are deep hazel. He always stands with his head arched in a regal manner. Upon his left foreleg, where the humerus was once broken, the bone is slightly malformed from where it healed at an angle. Its barely noticeable unless pointed out. He also has a gun shot wound on his right shoulder.

HISTORY
Born and bred during war and raised for battle, Cain was pushed into someone else's fight at a young age. Placed on the front line, forced to fight through gun fire and bloodshed, its no surprise how he ended up. For a long time, witnessing the deaths of his comrades scared him. Before he grew numb to suffering, he wanted to cry over them - yet he didn't bond to anyone. They were nameless, so why weep over those he did not know? So he galloped onwards, ignoring their deaths. Nameless faces lost in the battle. Faces he didn't recognize, nor would he remember.

There was only one face he cared for, and that was Abel.

Cain and Abel grew up alongside one another practically from birth, trained side by side for their purpose. Through war, they were side by side leading the way for the others. United, they were powerful leaders; Cain commanding and strong willed, and Abel tactical and kind hearted in spirit.

Yet their paths forked into two directions. Cain grew colder, his eyes only saw the goal, not the path they wandered upon. Abel saw only the suffering of those they left behind, he looked back and felt regret and sorrow. He tried to convince Cain that it was the humans war, not theirs, that they were not the ones who should be left to suffer - but Cain was too far gone. He had to win - to him, it was a competition he could not lose. No one else mattered but his victory - even Abel's face was beginning to fade from his memory. He refused to believe he was a tool for war - he was the leader, not a servant. The humans were nothing without him! He continued onwards, his blindness consuming him.

Their bond was severed completely, though, on the day that Abel fell. They were side by side, as always, despite their differences that much had not changed. The bullets flew by, missing the brutes. Almost. One bullet hit the bay's leg and Abel fell. Cain saw it happen, his eyes following his friend as he crumpled to the floor and sent a whinny towards he grey. Cain's stride didn't falter. He continued, turning away, leaving the dead behind. Abel was no different to the rest. He thundered on, his goal to win and nothing more.

He knew not what happened to Abel; if he died or survived. He didn't care. He forgot the name, forgot the face, and continued onwards until the day he himself was shot down.

He was shot in the shoulder and he fell, his leg hitting the ground sharply and fracturing the bone. His master was thrown, but was unharmed. The grey stumbled painfully to his feet, expecting the human to take him back - retreat and let the rest continue, or fight on with his injured leg and die honorably. When the human took his gun after seeing the broke leg, and placed it to the stallions temple, it was only then Cain saw himself for what he was. A tool. Abel had been right, after all.

No, that couldn't be right. He wasn't going to be killed by his master, he couldn't lose the battle! Cain was saved only by the humans stupidity and 'kindness' for putting Cain out of his apparently misery at his injury, as before he managed to shoot the horse he himself was killed by gunshot. Cain was left alone, and as the horses passed by, ignoring his plight, he soon found himself the only living soul in a field of dead comrades.

Others might have changed, might have realized their mistakes, after his. But not Cain. He was stubborn, thinking himself always right. He refused to believe it. He managed to wade through the bodies and his leg gradually healed as he changed his story. To anyone who asks, he was a war hero - the last horse standing against the enemy. But that, of course, was a lie. The proof lies in the slight limp and the swollen bone in his left foreleg.