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Post by forsaken on Sept 8, 2010 10:27:51 GMT -8
.\Sultan !!/. [/font]
THICK pillars of blue were cut along by the swaying golden grasses of the prairie in their prime. Darker blue velveteen was tearing blades of the shorter grasses, a strange yet strikingly blue platform in a sea of gold. As he tore a few more mouthfuls of blades before raising his head up and gazing about. His nares widened some as he took a strong whiff of the air. The hanging strands of his tail lightly traced over his hocks as he moved forward, plodding a few more paces forward and then resuming to graze. His ears slowly flicked forward and then around letting them be his eyes for the moment. It had been a few days since he had actually had time to eat so he wasn't passing this offer by now.
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AS time strolled by, the sun slowly began it's descend across the blue canvas overhead. Soon the sky would be burned by a lovely shade of orange, but for now the shadows only grew longer. To this the young stallion let a deep burrow unfold from his vocals, finishing his meal by now. Lazily he let his dark brown eyes glance over the prairie, nothing but a fading gold meeting each of his gazes. One could tell this stallion carved for company, especially that of mares but for now, Roman was the lead stallion of the mares in these lands. Snorting under his breath the stallion picked up his joints, taking onto a leggy trot away from where he was feeding. As he trotted along, his mane bounced lightly once it slapped his thick blue neck. The sound of his hooves hitting against the ground where sharp, and slightly melancholy.
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BY the time he had reached the shallow stream it was night. Shaking out his mane he lowered his head, taking a few sips of the cool liquid. As it rolled down his throat, he looked around once more and stood there for the time being. His haunches rose some, adjusting his weight onto three legs and bending his forth. From there he stood, watching the night win a battle of light.
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Post by Sojourner on Sept 25, 2010 7:31:03 GMT -8
The night was quiet and peaceful. A soft breeze toyed with the palomino mare's mane and tossed her forelock across her eyes, but she did not shift or move to acknowledge this. Her head was low to the ground, her eyes glazed. Her otherwise beautiful pelt was crusted with dried sweat and dirt. Her legs were nicked up and bloodied, pricked by the thorn thicket surrounding her. Whisper had escaped the confines of the paddock she had been kept in the past few weeks. She had gotten away from the man who had been so insistent on getting closer to her. He was the one that had forced this halter on her, and had left her trailing a long rope to make it easier to catch her when he worked with her.
She had by no means been abused... but she hadn't understood, and she had been frightened because of that. All she had ever known was living in Roman's herd among his other mares and foals. Whisper had never been fenced in or asked to follow the pressure of a halter. Perhaps eventually she would have learned to know what was wanted from her... but before that could happen, she had managed to bolt past the man when he met her at the gate one day. The young mare had run wildly then, hasty to find the security of her herd once more.
The rope on her halter had trailed behind her like a snake however, occasionally becoming tangled in her legs so that she was tripped up on it or accidentally jerked on her head. The worst came when it was caught up in a thorn thicket however. Whisper had pulled and struggled and twisted and fought for several hours, but it only ever seemed to wind up with the rope becoming further entangled, stubbornly holding her there. Now, as night was settling over them, she had finally given up. She stood dejectedly, still breathing coarsely, vulnerable and uncertain. This was one of the worst fates a horse could face, not being able to run and to roam for survival.
A movement in the brush nearby spooked Whisper, made all the more flighty by her predicament. She bolted, only to be brought up short once again at the end of her line. The halter had begun to chafe with so much struggle. It was painful to have any pressure applied. The mare thrashed once more however, emitting a despairing scream. It had merely been a hare in the bushes, but she was still on edge and worked up.
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