Name: Folâtre
Meaning: frisky
Quote: "Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend.”
Age: Six
Birthday: Fall
Breed: Andalusian and Arabian cross / Baroque war horse
Sex: Stallion
Species: Equine
House: House of Warriors
Rank: Herd horse


-Relatives-

Mother: Chaleur
Father: Ebenum
Mate: None
Siblings: Adelheid, Marengo
Offspring: none


-Appearance-

Eyes: Vivid Blue
Height: 1.72 m
Attributes: He has a brand mark of Napoleon his army on his hind, which can be describes as an N with a crown above. He always wears white feathers around his neck.
Coat: Blue roan, white markings on his face and his butt.
Mane: Black and dark grey with a piece of white in his forelock
Tail: Long, Black and dark grey with a few white pieces
Face: Black, dark grey with a facial marking on his nose and between his eyes.
Voice: Kit Harrington https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up71npdwc-Q

-Personality-


Folâtre has an inner-conflict because he doesn’t know who he needs to be loyal to, he’s anxious and troubled. He is an experienced fighter and wants to be a great leader like his father but he gets angry quickly when his emotions bubble up. He needs to find a place to get settled and find himself. Folâtre only once knew love and he doesn’t want to experience it again because his heart got broken.

-History-


My story begins on the night of June 17th. It was still raining and the loose earth under my hooves was quickly melting into mud. I could feel the tension of the humans around me in the air, tangible and electric; I knew that something important was on the verge of happening. The next afternoon with the sun rising high overhead, a signal was given that stirred everyone into moving forward. My rider kicked his heels in my flanks, a painful gesture but one I was all too familiar with. I kept on galloping. In the distance, I could see my brother watching from a hilltop; when I looked one last time in his direction, I knew that this would not go well. We quickly reached the other side of the field, and everywhere I heard steel clashing against steel, men who were dying. My legs moved swiftly, left, right, left, right, a perilous battle all in itself not to trip amongst the weapons of the enemies. I had no choice but to listen to the screaming for help, and to witness the blood flying.

Suddenly, we were attacked on two sides and sparks flew across the sky, giving way to massive explosions as they hit the ground. By the end of that day, we could not hope to accomplish a victory. I was standing in the camp when the enemies came to collect the valuable items out of the tents, and bury their deaths. The night before they soaked the whole battlefield and many of our troops died, the mud became so deep that I had trouble moving my legs. After a long struggle, I succeeded in heaving myself safely to the dryer high ground.

In a feeble trot I floated towards Marengo, and laid my head upon his back while I listened to his voice, closing my eyes wearily. But my moment of peace would not last for long. A group of people came towards us, and tried to take us away to their camp, but I did not want to be separated, so I fought to stay with my brother. It did not matter in the end - they had ropes and thunder sticks while all I had was a tired soul. With a single bullet, they made me bow; one shot in my foreleg and I fell into the mud. I could still hear my brother trumpeting in the distance, the one who tried to stay with me. But, I was exhausted and lay my head down as I promised myself that we would see each other again someday.

All of those years I carried an empty hole in my heart, but after two years of searching I found Marengo again. It was short-lived - we went our own ways and never saw each other again. Perhaps, faith will bring us back together…