Post by August on Dec 28, 2005 18:45:34 GMT -5
Name Book
Age Four
Gender Female
Breed Quarter Horse
Color Blue Roan
Sample
In all honesty, the colt really could have done better. The land was dry and hot, unfit for decent living. But who was to say the anyone decent resided here? No indeed, it was a foul place, difficult to approach. But courage was mustered up, and the hated little tyke was soon carousing over the borderline. Hated, at least, to all those who knew him, none here. New to these lands, he was, and he delighted in discovering there was a bachelor band, a land in which nasty, cruel brutes could do with mares as they pleased. It was a start at least, the youngster mused, for he would not be content living in this hellhole for long. Soon enough, he'd reach the age of four, maturing age among equine folk, and would claim a land of his. But for now, this. This was no vista, a flat, monotonous land broken only by jutting rocks, found scattered here and there, and the occasional small rise. For the most part, it was dull, treeless, and uninhabited. But the young masu knew better. He could discern scents of the bastards who made this their home, of minxes held captive against their will. A soft smirk tinged his sharp features, and his deep brown eyes swept casually about the landscape, deeming it fit, for now. He snorted then, and wondered if he simply announced he would be living here, or would we have to query for permission from the viriles?
In any case, he might as well make them aware of his presence. He tossed up his broad head, neighing out sharply. His bugle reverberated off the rock walls, rebounded from barren stone. And now only an echo remained of his signal. He was satisfied now, that whomever was near would head in his direction. Pleased now, he started off for a ledge a ways off, which led onto what appeared to be the largest hill in this forsaken place. His stout little legs carried him there, and now one could have a good look at him, as he moved slowly and carefully up the bluff. His pelt was deep mahogany in hue, tainted by raven coloration upon his ankles, and his silky mane and tail. This tint was known simply as bay to most. He was medium-sized for his age, a good muscular build hinted at the workings of a warrior. It was true, though not known to most, that the progeny of neutral sires and dark dams can be the most powerful of horses. Neutral he was not, however, choosing to seek his deceased mother's was of life, the way of the dark, cold and bitter and murderous. His intentions were simple enough, he sought power, like most. He sought a herd, and sought fillies - Soon mares, to pass on his noble heritage. He had finally come near the top of the ridgeline, sharp as a dagger, it protruded ominously towards his side. He avoided it carefully, and managed to sidle up to the plateau-like top of the hill. He gazed down nonchalantly at the turf that spread out before him. As he waited, dust swirled and whipped quietly in a minuscule breeze, whirling mildly about his legs. And now, this next chapter of his life opened, amidst whirling dust and rocky plain. Somehow, it was already home.
(from an old site, playing my colt mauvais)