He paced around the small pen that he'd been in since the auction ended. His arms were crossed over his bare torso, cold from the draft that seeped into the wooden barn. His left foreleg was lame from when he'd tried to strike the stablehand who'd put him in the pen, and he held it slightly aloft. He had blonde hair, and heterochromic eyes — one blue, one brown.

When someone entered the pen, his eyes narrowed and he backed up; white tail lashing.

"Who are you?" The grey centaur grunted.