There was something regal in his bearing that told you he was bred for kings.
It was the line of his spine, sweeping down from the back of his long skull, covered in a curly winter coat, that slid all the way to the tail. It was the long thick hair, dripping from his chest and tail, swirling back towards his neck on his back in colors of red brindle and white. It was the position of his feet as he lay there, the front laying next to each other in front of him, shadowed by his face, the back on either side of his thin form. It was the barrel of his chest, pressed against the floor with the rib cage slowly expanding and contracting, a smooth breath with a strong heart.
It was his face, long and narrow, with brown eyes that looked into you.
He knew who he was. Kings were not good enough for him.
For some reason, you were. For some reason, you were.