|
|
Post by Tiggs on Nov 26, 2011 1:46:02 GMT
She always came back here. Throughout summer, the sandy roan mare came back to the Boggy were she had last seen her yearling filly. She was sure that Bilba would be alright without her, but Kiata worried nonetheless. What troubled her most was that her filly had just disappeared without a word, and she had left her with Jiba, her herd mate. The other mare should have been here when she returned, but Kiata had returned after two days searching for Piringa to find the whole group – Bilba, Jiba, and Jiba’s filly Baan – all gone.
I shouldn’t have left them for so long, she often chastised herself. Where were they? Where had they gone? Why had Jiba not waited? Kiata asked herself many questions, but she had never found an answer. She could not even find Piringa. The grey stallion was always on her mind. She had been running all summer, dodging other stallions and trying to find her mate. The mare was lean and built for running, but during the summer she had really toned her muscles and not one ounce of fat softed her appearance.
Her body was a sandy orange, her lower legs chestnut fading to black around the hocks. Her mane and tail were a dark brown, with streaks of tan, and her big honest eyes were a deep mahogany brown. She looked healthy, but well-travelled, and her expression was always one of concentration or worry. She had not stopped trying to find Piringa, and she would not so long as her legs would carry her.
The Boggy was all but dry this late in the summer. Water was restricted to shallow bitter puddles, and the only river estuaries left were slow and silty. Summer had leached all the moisture out of the land, and the Boggy could soon be as dry as the rest of the High Country. Kiata quenched her thirst at a shallow stream that was once a river, standing on the dry rocky river bed that acted as the stream’s banks.
She was all too aware that a lone mare was highly prized by all stallions, and out in the open like this, men could spot her easily. But she had to wait here in case Piringa came. The mare threw up her chestnut head, black-ringed nostrils flairing. Nothing. Sighing, the mare picked her way out of the rocky bed and stood up on the dry grass, nibbling at the sun-dried stalks. They lacked moisture, but it was all that was left for the mare that had nothing else. |
|
|
|
Post by KAREE on Dec 2, 2011 1:01:55 GMT
At his age, Coorain should have had at least a filly or two following him around, but as luck would have it, the young chestnut stallion had none. A sigh flew from parted lips as he thought about this problem, not for the first time that day. Where would he find a lone filly? He wondered, he had tried searching high and low, but he had not managed yet managed to woo a pretty filly in or steal one from an older stallion. Either he had been spotted, or he just hadn't found one that caught his attention.
Not that he was being picky or anything. The young stallion moved through the dry bush, not really caring to make himself quiet. He was confident enough that he would be able to handle anything that came his way anyway. No man would be able to catch him, and no stallion would beat him or chase him away. He was getting stronger as each day passed, and he could feel the power surging through his limbs with each step he took. Coorain was slowly beginning to fill out, his awkward, foal-like appearance had began to disappear and his rump turned round, and his stomach fit. His legs were lean and powerful, a large crest building itself up on top of his neck. His face was rather box-shaped, but if he twisted his head to the side, he looked quite handsome.
The Boggy was not an unfamiliar place for the stallion, he often came here in his younger days with his dam to gobble up the sweet grass that grew in the spring time. But, that was the old days and it was summer now. The grass would have begun to dry out and so would the water that coursed through the heart of this land. Coorain moved along the riverbed, heading downstream. The gurgling water could be heard, though it sounded shallow and unlively. Crickets chirped and sang out for the joy of the day, their loud chorus mixing in with the sound of the other insects. Movement up ahead made Coorain shift his gaze from straight ahead to off to the side of the creek. His ears pushed forward instantly as the form of another horse appeared in his eye line. At first he was cautious, glancing around to see if there would be more horses around, but when none came about, Coorain straightened out his stance and lifted his head. He called out to the lone mare then, figuring this must've been his lucky day.
[/justify] |
|
|
|
Post by Tiggs on Dec 3, 2011 22:48:32 GMT
The chirp of crickets muffled the sound of approaching hoof beats, and the grass was long enough to obscure her vision. So when the colt’s call came, she was surprised to see him so close. Head thrown up, her features alert, the mare swung round to face the chestnut colt. The young male seemed pleased to see her, but then most stallions were. Poised to run, the sandy filly gave a wary nicker in reply.
Males, even young ones, could be a hassle to the mare if they were determined to keep her. Not all stallions were as noble as Piringa, but Kiata was not an unsociable mare, and she would wait until the last moment to decide whether this colt would be a threat to her. He was not a bad-looking colt, and had she been a younger filly, she might have responded favourably to him. But she was yearning for Piringa, her mature grey stallion. The colt seemed almost a foal to her now, and she reflected on how many years had passed since she was once this colt’s age. It had seemed only yesterday she was galloping across the Ramsheads, no stallion to claim her, no foals at foot. She was a mature mare now, and she had mature reasons for picking her stallions carefully.
Piringa was both kind and strong. He chose grazing well and he saw off young colts like this on a daily basis. Out here alone, Kiata was easy pickings. But the mare knew she had her own defences. She bet if the colt should be cruel or rude, he would never catch her if she ran. After everything she had lost, she was glad at least she had her nimble feet to carry her away from trouble. If only they would take her towards her heart’s desire. OOC: No need to post "pending" posts  Since its an open thread, other players might want to hop in. I also have bookmarks and notifications set up, so I get all excited when there's a post in one of my threads so with empty "pending" posts, I can't tell when there's actually a new post if it's edited into an old post XD |
|
