Post by Annie on Oct 23, 2007 18:51:42 GMT -5
P H O E N I X
Care to try?
Care to try?
>> The wind was chilly as it blew about the island, whipping the trees back and forth. No snow covered the ground yet though, and the weather was relatively warm considering how cold these lands could get when winter hit with its full force. The few remaining birds chirping and argued loudly as they searched for the few remaining materials they would need to survive for winter. The birds that migrated had already left. But the quiet, calm effect was broken by the sound of something treading through sea water quite loudly. The crimson belle walked from cool waters of the stream, her smoothly curved serpentine arched elegantly, which accentuated the neck muscles so they could be seen quite well. Her small teacup nares were flared wide as she snorted. She picked up her long, slim stilts high, placing them down with a defiant splash in the water. Her drenched banner, a few shades darker than her coat and light a the tips in what humans called flaxen, was flicking back and forth, flinging water droplets over her soaked carcass. Her chest was wide and heart girth deep, making her a horse with speed to fear. But her slender and almost innocent looks made her one of beauty and young innocence, but innocent was far from this minxette. Her hide, though still wet, was marked by old and fresh wounds. The marks ran in bloody, long, and jagged welts along her back, neck and hindquarters, criss crossing in some places. And though they had been washed off with the water, the blood continued to pool on the surface of the deep horse-made marks. Though they were obviously painful, they didn't seem to bother the creature, who had a vexed shine in her deep, endless light mocha pools, which were rather seducing, seeing as they were much lighter than most. The deep boundries of the shiney lampets could easily capture a single gladiator foolish enough to gaze into them longer than needed.
>> One could only guess she had gotten these marks from a roving young horse, one looking to have a good time. But she had left the one responsible for her own wounds licking his own injuries like a sick dog alone with an injured pride to boot. Her lips were pulled back in a lupine snarl, showing off her white, deadly enamels, and clearly stating she was a mare of a foul attitude. If only they knew. Snorting, flints jabbed the earth angrily as her momentum picked up, soon swinging into a long legged sprint. Her nares were wide as she sucked in air, thorns perked forward eagerly as she relished the effect of the cool air stinging her lungs with each breath. She was stretched out low over the ground, daggers pounding against the earth heavily, her snorts of pleasure escaping every seventh or eighth stride. Her tassle flowed out behind her and her pelt, now dried, was a marvelous and brillant copper red with a slight gold shine to it. The only disturbance among her pelt was the white star that rested between her twin pools, making her head seem even more petite than normal, even for an Arabian.
>> She felt boundless when running, like she could run forever and never get enough. She loved the feeling of the air flowing through her long silky mane that came close to reaching the bottom of her shoulder. She loved how running made you feel weightless and how it lifted her tail that barely kissed the ground into the air. She loved everything about running. It was her life, her freedom, the essence that made her live on when she had nothing in this world. To bad she didn't know that that was going to change very soon. But right now, all her attention was put to the task at hand, running with all her heart and soul until she reached her destination. She noticed with sadness weighing her heart, that her planned address was close at hand. She slowed to a rocking lope, lifting her crown high and bringing her pillars close and high off ground so she seemed almost prancing. Her harks perked forward at seeng that fallen tree that she so often lived by. Yes, the deep depths of the forest on this island was her home at the moment. She had seen little to no equines in her stretch of the woods, and met with none, but for once, her guard was down. Her strides lengthened as energy bubbled in her veins, pushing her again into the glorious gallop she loved and bringing her closer the tree at a frightening pace.
>> No doubt this mare had speed, but any normal horse that choose to tackle any kind of jump at that speed was a fool. She could kill herself. And to make matters worse, this log maybe came up to a height of about 5 feet and 9 inches. Surely she wouldn't make it over or even try. But as a call of challenge and jubilation erupted from her lips, it was apparent she would. She lifted her hind legs off the ground in a playful buck. How could a mare at her age be as playful as a colt? She lowered her head and bared her teeth, as though challenging the log to do its worse. And as she drew closer, her speed quickened even more. She snorted and rang her call again in the air. She gathered her legs beneath her, her muscles bunched, and she thrusted herself into flight. She closed her eyes as she soared over the log, her fore legs brought so close to her body her hooves touched her torso. Her back was arched in a perfect bow and she cleared the jump with maybe a few inches to spare. As gravity took hold once more, she snapped her legs forward. Banner flicked at the log as though she were showing off she had won yet again. Her front legs dug deep as she landed and it was surprising that the slim bones didn't snap beneath her weight; they seemed that delicate and thin. She lifted her head as she gave a few springy steps away from the log and looked back at it. She lifted from the ground in triumph, her shrill squeal echoing across the small clearing she had just come into. This was her home. A simple, well guarded clearing in the middle of the homeless lands.