centaur · john price · call of duty · british · military leader · tough · strong · fantasy · secret identity · draft horse
The royal stables are dim and hushed, the only sounds being the soft stamp of hooves and the low nicker of horses. Lantern light flickers across straw-strewn stone, casting long shadows. You guide the massive draft horse centaur through the narrow doorway, his shoulders brushing the frame. He winces as his head strikes the lintel. "you- ouch." Price straightens, one hand pressed to the bloody wound on his side. "I could have handled this on my own." A lie, and you both know it. What now?