Meadow
Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
Posted on March 15, 2018 at 04:29:07 AM by MAYSON
MAYSON  A million dreams are keeping me awake I think of what the world could be A vision of the one I see The day-old snow was somewhat of a new experience for the arabian mare. She had been born and raised in a desert climate - much more accustomed to sand storms than snow storms. The cold, white substance littering the ground was interesting. It melted into water as soon as it touched her muzzle and tricked down into her nostrils which caused her to shake her head and sneeze in irritation. Her wet mane fell in clumps along her delicate neck and combined with the scrapes and overall dull coat she could not have looked more like some forlorn shipwrecked sailor. Mayson’s mind began to wander (as it tends to do) as she started to play. She imagined she was the queen of a rag-tag army attacking an evil tyrant to reclaim the land of white snow - her birthright. Most horses leave childish games behind as they grow, but Mayson never did and her vivid imagination, her mother said, would be the death of her. With a final grunt, Mayson lunged forward and landed in satisfaction, a smile creeping up over her face. There she thinks the evil king is vanquished, the kingdom is restored!. Mayson was so involved in this fantasy, she didn’t realize the presence of the stallion who had come across her. She probably would have died of embarrassment if she knew someone saw her playful banter because it probably was quite the spectacle. It’s only when the stallion made his presence known with a friendly nicker that Mayson became aware of him. With a start, she turned her dished face toward him. Icicles clung to her long whiskers and disheveled forelock fell across her face. She pricked her ears up and nickers a greeting back, a childish glint of excitement danced through her eyes as she trotted eagerly forward. “Hello there!” She sang out happily, excited to have an excuse to talk to anyone after days of solitude. The mare was very outgoing. “I come from the mainland - somewhere, though I couldn’t quite tell you where - and - and I seem to have found this island by some stroke of luck! Where am I?” Mayson trailed off, hoping the stallion had some answers because she was practically dying of curiosity. // Mare // Gray [Ee/Aa/Gg] // Arabian // 14.3hh // 4 // No children // a fable character // |
Replies:
There have been no replies.
Post a reply: