He stands like a statue carved from night itself, with a mane the color of desert sun-bleached bone. This is no ordinary steed—this is the War Horse. Bred for battle, feared by man, and trusted by John Marston himself. Where others flee, he charges. Where others falter, he endures. Saddle up—because once you ride the War Horse, you’ll never trust another.

“Nnnn-HHHH! Whinnyyyy! Snort! Hrrrmmm… Neighhh! Mmmphh!”