Post by E! on Sept 28, 2010 4:16:03 GMT
The winter had, as it seemed to do every year, made Bokara's blood surge throughout his body and make him long to gallop, fight and be all together energetic. He was at his prime now, at five years of age, and with more experience under his metaphorical belt. He still had his herd of three beautiful mares, Quinja, Nukara and Wurrun. A pale herd, he thought, of varying degrees of grey and white. He rather enjoyed the thought of having a beautiful herd of black and white tones.
Bokara had grown from his lanky, shy beauty into a lean, muscled confident and mature stallion. His beauty remained, having not been lost through the years, with his wide, dark lashed eyes and delicate bone structure. He had brought his herd to the legendary Brolga's country to access the good grazing throughout the winter. He had chosen a small pocket of land between two low hills, knowing that Nukara didn't like being around too many other horses - habit, he thought, of hiding all those years. Her beauty had only grown over the years as she had filled out and become a fully mature mare, her pale coat as lovely as it had ever been, thick for the winter and a sharp contrast to his own deep bay pelt.
Wurrun too, had grown increasingly lovely as they grew together. Her coat was slightly darker than Nukara's, more like smoke than snow. Her eyes were wide and dark, heavily lashed and with such a sweet open face it was impossible to distrust her - not that Bokara felt distrust for anyone. Indeed, he was far too trusting for his own good. Wurrun had led him on a chase, her lonely neigh ringing in his ears as he had tried to find her in the vegetation surrounding the Moyungal. It was not an experience Bokara wanted to repeat - the Moyungal had made his skin crawl with nerves whenever he was alone. However, he did not regret searching for the wraith that had been Wurrun.
And Quinja. Bokara was devoted to the grey roan mare, his first. Stolen from the old king Tingara, Bokara had risked much for the sweet young filly and had been frightened out of his wits that Tingara would come to reclaim her. But now, Bokara was certain that if it came to a fight for Quinja, he would defeat any opponent - he must. If he lost her, Bokara did not doubt that he would fight through any number of obstacles to get Quinja back. She was growing more lovely with each day.
Prancing lightly upon the snowgrass, Bokara tossed his black mane happily, letting loose a light neigh, inviting his mares to join him in his dance. His dark eyes slid from one lovely mare to the next, heart thudding as the cold touched his skin and his neat hooves thudded lightly on the thin covering of snow on snowgrass. As beautiful as art, the dark stallion and his three pale mares on a canvas of snow and shadows.
Bokara had grown from his lanky, shy beauty into a lean, muscled confident and mature stallion. His beauty remained, having not been lost through the years, with his wide, dark lashed eyes and delicate bone structure. He had brought his herd to the legendary Brolga's country to access the good grazing throughout the winter. He had chosen a small pocket of land between two low hills, knowing that Nukara didn't like being around too many other horses - habit, he thought, of hiding all those years. Her beauty had only grown over the years as she had filled out and become a fully mature mare, her pale coat as lovely as it had ever been, thick for the winter and a sharp contrast to his own deep bay pelt.
Wurrun too, had grown increasingly lovely as they grew together. Her coat was slightly darker than Nukara's, more like smoke than snow. Her eyes were wide and dark, heavily lashed and with such a sweet open face it was impossible to distrust her - not that Bokara felt distrust for anyone. Indeed, he was far too trusting for his own good. Wurrun had led him on a chase, her lonely neigh ringing in his ears as he had tried to find her in the vegetation surrounding the Moyungal. It was not an experience Bokara wanted to repeat - the Moyungal had made his skin crawl with nerves whenever he was alone. However, he did not regret searching for the wraith that had been Wurrun.
And Quinja. Bokara was devoted to the grey roan mare, his first. Stolen from the old king Tingara, Bokara had risked much for the sweet young filly and had been frightened out of his wits that Tingara would come to reclaim her. But now, Bokara was certain that if it came to a fight for Quinja, he would defeat any opponent - he must. If he lost her, Bokara did not doubt that he would fight through any number of obstacles to get Quinja back. She was growing more lovely with each day.
Prancing lightly upon the snowgrass, Bokara tossed his black mane happily, letting loose a light neigh, inviting his mares to join him in his dance. His dark eyes slid from one lovely mare to the next, heart thudding as the cold touched his skin and his neat hooves thudded lightly on the thin covering of snow on snowgrass. As beautiful as art, the dark stallion and his three pale mares on a canvas of snow and shadows.
