The Great King

He stood there, surrounded by the morning mist, and was the most magnificent thing ever seen. His legs were long and shapely, his back strong and broad. His face was long, with large nostrils and a high brow, just like his father and his grandfather before him. Whenever he shook his head, his thick, chestnut hair blew about in the silent breeze.

He is the ruler of the plains, second only to the untamed prairie wind. His followers numbered in the hundreds, and under his rule, they were wild and free.
For several years, his kingdom prospered under his rule, and every new day found him among his followers; checking on the old and sick ones, keeping tabs on the young ones, and gently touching the ones he loved the most, reassuring them of their place within his heart.

From his position on top of the hill, he could see his devoted followers spread out below him in the dawn of the spring day. He breathed in the sweet scent of the cherry blooms that the wind brought his way, and prepared himself for the day. But, in all the beauty of the day, a new scent was brought to him, one that he knew well. He looked hastily in the direction the wind was coming from, and caught a premonition of the future.

He saw shadows take shape against the rising of the spring sun, and he watch in fear as the shapes moved into the group of his beloved followers, sending them into a panic and piercing the morning with their terrified screams.
Screaming in anger, he rushed down the hill and right into the group, fighting for those he loved. He kicked one of the shadows, sending the being onto its back. Then he kicked another one in the head, and that being fell where it has stood. He fought and fought, kicking and screaming while dodging ropes and snares, but to no avail.

Finally, the shadows retreated, and he went throughout his kin noticing who was lost, and comforting those left behind.
He knew what would happen to those taken, for he had once been captured by the shadows when he was younger, but he had managed to escape. But, although most of his scars had healed, he was always reminded of that time, for he still bore the brand of his captivity and would carry it for the rest of his days.