I was not usually the one to walk into a land, like Dawn Hills, where horses without homes lurked. My onyx daggers carry me somewhere, anywhere I please, and then my mind does the rest. I see if I can stay in that land, and use my ever so charming ways to convince the leader to let me stay. Ha ha, not very often does that happen. I never reside in one place for to long of a time because I just get bored with the bland horses in it. My first herd, the one I was born into, the one under the illusion that killing made you feared and better than everyone else, was shoved behind me when I was one year old. I had been weaned, I had a mature enough outlook on life, had developed survival skills and what else would I need? That had been where my problems began. I lived in Wyoming, bordering the Grand Pacific Ocean, the new name given to it when it washed out half the west coast of the United States just like the news channels and Discover Earth Scientists had predicted, in a giant Tsunami.