Meadow

His tack hangs from him like the dead flesh it is, his body shaking violently as he heaves giant breaths that toss the grasses beneath his feet like a hurricane had just made landfall. His nostrils are wide, his state wretched. He would have been the most beautiful creature had he not caught his abusers eye. Muscles, thick and sturdy. A tall crest that helped his neck look arched even when he extended his chin, three white socks and a coronet to contrast his nigh-black body -- only the sun betrayed him for the seal bay he was. Smack on his forehead a star, often covered by a thick and luxurious mane.

A kind horse, he had been seen as compliant and complacent in his lot - a even tempered colt perfect for the shows though with too meager a drive to do much hitched to wagons for showing. At first he had thought it amusing, but they learned quickly that was not his purpose. Nor, it seemed, did he have a taste for chasing the mares. If it had not been for the sale, he might have made a lot of money.

He stands now bloody and beaten badly. His chest and belly all sport savage welts and marks and open cuts that drip blood as well as seawater. Across his shoulders, too, where the harness held the cut flesh down… he was ill used. His mouth is cut at the corners, a nose dibbling blood into his sagging lower lip. He was free, wasn’t he? Even with the harness, the bridle, the shoes… he was free. He sways, thinking to take a step forward, but he halts again. His pain was at such a feverpitch that he had to sit and wonder why he might be so unsteady, only realizing it when his step had brought the pain from the goring wound he had caused in his own side. It had seemed the better option than allowing one more slicing snap of the rod to hid him in the belly.

He has enough energy to step further in, to move further in, but he makes it only as far as the solid earth where no sand settled into the grasses, before he was down to his bruised and throbbing knees. His haunches took no qualms with following so fast after that he was more in a sit before he could settle his painful belly and chest to the earth. The cold of the ground is a relief, it makes him groan and snort as he balances his nose into the dirt. No, he was utterly unaware of the danger - but perhaps it was best. Allowing himself a moment of weakness might have been all that kept him alive -- just a breath of respite.