She was different than the rest.
It went beyond her muted throat (no, she was not completely silent – she knew how to form the warning squeal and the fearful whinny; she was familiar with friendly whickers and reassuring whuffs of breath) and past her wild-hardened body – for she was not smooth and sleek like the rest, but instead small and sinewy, with travel-hard muscles and layers of dust and dirt that covered her sorrel-overo coat. It was in the way that there was little to no resistance to being uprooted from her new home, herded by a strange stallion and lead to an even stranger place; a place that did not appear to belong to anyone, but instead everything was soaked in several different scents of several different stallions.
No, she was not angry, and she was not disgruntled. It was not in her nature to be so, for she was a mare much like her mother; she went with whoever took her (although, it could be argued that Braewyn’s father was indeed her mother’s favorite, and that perhaps there would be sadness had she ever been forcefully taken from him). But the wild-rose girl had no such attachments to the stallion or the land she had been taken from, and so it was with light steps that she moved into this new land. Her beautiful brown eyes are bright as they take in the new sights, her nostrils fluttering at the strange scents, but her lips remain silent, simply waiting.
B R A E W Y N
of ( wolfclaw ) and ( randilyn )
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