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Posted on June 9, 2013 at 09:33:48 PM by Mothmona
FACING the WIND 5 YEARS -o- 15.3HH -o- GREY THUROUGHBRED -o- MOTHMONA ---------------------------------------------- How? It always bewildered him how other stallions could see them as such frail little petals in the wind. He heard the roan scold him, order him not to 'twist' his words, but does he not need as many weapons as he can to face the snake-queens of manipulation? And anyway, he hadn't even been that cruel... not that he didn't want to be cruel to her, but Epicille was no master at words. They came, but without much grace or forethought. The very thing the roan had been telling him...when...did he hear hoof-beats? Splash When one is experienced in the line of being hit, they associate a sudden, close-by, incoming shape in their peripherals with a sharp pain of contact; a split followed by stinging warmth not unlike his ankle which still mildly irritated him in the background of his thoughts. What would surprise them, though, is a sudden, close-by, incoming shape that is followed by the unusual sensation of thousands of grains of dirt hitting the skin of the face, which has already braced itself for impact. He kept his dirty eyes closed and lips tightly-curled, listening keenly to the mare's anxious, inviting threats and the stallion's quick-to-follow advice. What was this now? Epicille kept his furry lids shut, hearing her words again in his head and translating each one to 'come on, come on, try me – give me one excuse.' He didn't want to open his eyes and ruin the image. The strange, curious image. What kind of horse was she sounding like, he wondered? When his eyes were shut and his body didn't move, afraid that a stray action could be taken as violence and result in a swift cutting-down, she sounded... rough. Powerful, in her own mind at least. What he was trying to mean was, she sounded physically capable, and if there was anything that the poor boy had thought he knew, it was that mares are always using tricks to compensate for their physical inadequacy. They could not lead herds, so they puppetted their stallions as they were exchanged back and forth like trinkets. But this same-sized mare was speaking like she could rule the world if she had to. By all accounts, she was sounding like a typical, stubborn stead. Like a mad colt that knew no better. It made Epicille grin beyond control. 'I almost want to watch her rip you to pieces,' the strange stallion had said. Epicille opened his eyes and saw how close she was to him and how fiery her eyes were. Yes, she certainly could, and he had no doubt that the large, dark, blood-sniffer – who had every advantage in size – would sit and watch the pummeling as it occurred. |
Replies:
- moar tests - By Mothy June 10, 2013 at 11:46:30 PM
- not done yet! - By Mothmona June 12, 2013 at 08:55:10 PM
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