Posted on January 15, 2013 at 03:55:09 PM by s o l g a r
 solgar As the days darkened into the endless dusk of winter and the temperature dropped to well below freezing, Solgar's mood had followed suit. The hormone-drive mania of breeding season had taken its toll, and he was not only exhausted, but quite frankly ashamed of himself. He had acted like mindless beast, thrusting himself upon any mare that had shown the slightest interest, and when there were no more to invite his advances in his own home, he had slipped away through the freezing waters and headed to the crossing, where he'd approached a pale mare (not his usual type) and mounted her too.
In a way, the shock of discovering that winters on Tinuvel were as relentlessly dark as summers were bright was a blessing in disguise, for the lack of sunshine had instigated in his nervous system a desire to sleep constantly. And sleep he did, tucked away in the wooded foothills of the ominous mountain range overlooking the inlet - where he was certain no one would bother him - for days at a time, with only scattered breaks every few hours to feed or relieve himself or stretch out his creaking limbs. It was just what he needed. The wonderful thing about sleep is that it not only rejuvenates your body, it seems to make time pass ten times more quickly. The more Solgar slept, the faster the tail-end of breeding season raced by, until one day he had woken up to the dusky darkness of another arctic day and realized he could not longer taste the stench of his own mares in heat. For a few more days after his long sleep he had allowed himself some alone time, during which he refuelled his body by eating almost constantly to sate the empty ache in his gut, and creeping ever closer to the main body of his herd. A few times he even went so far as to slip ahead through the trees to peek out at them and make certain all was well, before returning to the depths of his private forest. Eventually the time to reveal himself once more would come, of course. And that day was today. For the first time in weeks, Solgar takes a deep breath and strolls out into the open. The land has been transformed by the arrival of winter, and everywhere he looks, there is not a speck of color. All is swathed in a pristine, glittering shell of white, from the gentle, undulating hills and the leafless boughs of trees. Even with the lack of sunshine, the land seems to give off its own ethereal light. The stream snaking through the center of the open inlet and down towards the sea, like a crack in a vast egg, has completely frozen over and reflects the light of the full moon like a mirror. Solgar doesn't find many things beautiful, but this almost takes his breath away. The distant echo of voices off to his right breaks the picturesque sense of timelessness abruply. Breath steaming out before him, his dark eyes quickly find a fresh trail of hoof prints in the snow, and he sets off without hesitation, allowing himself to be led into the grey shadows of the trees. With little in the way of green foliage to marr his vision, soon he catches sight of two bronze silhouettes strolling together, one marred by the tiniest amount of white, the other framed by black. Vanille. His breath catches in his throat, and he hesitates briefly, remembering his encounter with the child-like beauty in the commons. So she found her way here eventually. I thought she was never going to show. With newfound determination, the stallion snakes through the trees at an energetic trot, hooves crunching merrily in the snow, until he has come up on the rear of the duo, just in time to hear Winter's scathing words. "Why don't you let her decide that for herself, hm?" he says, his voice rugged and croaky, and reaches out to nip chastisingly at the palomino mare's hindquarters. Ears pinned briefly against his raven crest, he pulls up beside Winter to glare at her for a millisecond, before continuing forward and swivelling around to stand before both females. Vanille's fresh presence is more than welcome, and though he doesn't smile, his dark brown eyes gleam with appreciation as he surveys the young mare. "I thought you were lost." ten; mustang; blue roan; 15'3hh; inlet; shiva |
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- x - By Solgar February 7, 2013 at 04:10:18 PM
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