Sunburnt Pride [Open]

[Rivre]

It was ridiculous! He was what, five years old now? And still he had no mares. It was beyond dis-pleasurable to travel alone in such an open and wild place as this - so why hadn't he plucked up the darn courage to inquire about any of the wonderful mares and fillies he had met? Because he was soft in the head, that's why. Summer had come to the high-country, seemingly quick after the rushed spring, turning the bush to green pastures and wilted leaves, bringing the annoying horse-flies that pricked at ones hide if they strayed too far into the light and humidity of day.

So he stood, head lowered, ears flickering, neutral, beneath the whipper snowgums, their waxy pelts giving shade to those who sought it. And sought it he did! He could feel the stinging, itching pain of too much sun, irritating his reddened nose already, and he shook his head in protest, snorting. Sunburn, great. A little creek ran beside where he stood, often spraying his legs with a fine mist - one that cooled to the touch but was otherwise annoyingly warm. Lowering his muzzle to the liquid, he began to satisfy his thirst, gulping at the water as it ran over dry, parched lips.

It felt good, to have drunk something, but still his nose itched, and so he thrust it beneath the surface, thoughts returning to that of his previous wanderings. He had met a lovely grey filly only yesterday and turned his nose up at her, without even knowing it. Something was building in his chest, and he snorted, abruptly brought back to the reality of his goings on- it wasn't everyday one forgot to breath! Scrambling backwards, he hastened to take a few deep breaths of the minty fresh air, shaking the droplets of water from his muzzle and snorting them from his nose. Death by self-drowning, great.

It was one of the few summer days that seemed to promise something other than the sunlight hours, the air was humid and clung to his heated white coat, the sky harbouring greying clouds that threatened rain - a storm even. But this only improved his glum mood, that and the fact that his nose had finally stopped itching - maybe he would avoid a scorching today? Stepping out into the clearing, he set off at a brisk trot, unusually long mane whisked back by a sudden burst of hot wind, tail streaming out behind him as his stride lengthened to a canter, lobes pricking forwards. This glade was long, and he could enjoy a good gallop to burn off some of that pent-up anger - bucking a single and pathetic buck before tearing off, throwing up dust behind him.