This was a horse, a magnificent and rare sight in the northern hills. As Limon's eyes fell upon it for the first time, he was struck by its sheer presence. Towering at over two meters from the ground to its proud head, it was a vision of power and elegance. Its lustrous black coat seemed to drink in the moonlight, glistening with an almost otherworldly sheen, as if it were a creature born from the very essence of the night. Each of its four hooves was a study in strength and form, firm and perfectly proportioned, hinting at the speed and endurance that lay within. The well-defined muscle lines that coursed across its body were like a sculptor's masterpiece, a testament to its raw physical might and vitality. It was, without a doubt, the most splendid horse Limon had ever beheld.
"Thank you," Limon said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. Without a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took the reins from Bard's hand, his touch almost reverent.
