Post by Britnie Jade on Feb 16, 2011 19:44:37 GMT -5
Characters
Desperado: Black, Lead Stallion
Honey Suckle: Palomino, Lead Mare
Offspring: Summer, Eclipse
Bluebird: Blue roan
Offspring: pregnant
Copperstone: Chestnut
Offspring: Ashes, Skyleaf
Feather: Bay tri-color
Offspring: Warrior, pregnant
Iceberg: White
Offspring: Cotton, pregnant
Wildfire: Blood bay
Offspring: Ebony, Autumn
Plain: very light palomino
Offspring: Persimmon, pregnant
Cotton: White, First born of Iceberg, Three years and one season, Young Mare
Ebony: Black, First born of Wildfire, Three years, Young Mare
Persimmon: Palomino, First born of Plain, Three years and three seasons, Young Mare
Summer: Dun, First born of Honeysuckle, Two years, Filly
Autumn: Chestnut, Second born of Wildfire, One year and three seasons, Filly
Ashes: Iron grey, First born of Copperstone, One year, Colt
Warrior: Black white overo, First born of Feather, One year, Colt
Skyleaf: Muddy brown, Second born of Copperstone, One Season, Filly - No Longer Alive.
Eclipse: Black, Second born of Honeysuckle, One season, Colt
(Not In Summer's Herd)
Sunstorm: Palomino, Two years and one season, Colt
Mustang Heart
Prologue
I know many dangers of the world. But I also know that we -I- rely on my herd to be safe. My senses, along with everyone else's, keep us alive. We know our signals. Or at least, they do. They're smart. Sometimes though, I'm 'less immature' than the others my age as they seem to 'signal'; And also say. See, we can converge our own mental language of emotions into what we are asking, saying, commanding(etc.)and send it to the horse we want; We do not send these 'messages' often though; Usually we use our body language, as we tend to use the mental language as little as possible.
Anyways, as I mentioned before I explained how we communicated, the other horses think me as immature for my age.
For instance, one time one of the mares in the herd caught a whif of the scent of coyote. Coyotes will attack the weak, but they leave the strong alone. They know when, where, and why to go after something, or someone.
The mare who scented the coyote spooked, and the others followed her cue; Everyone except me. I know, all the other foals ran away. In fact, I've never, ever heard of a foal staying in the wake of danger. Either way, I stayed, and looked, listened, smelled. I didn't smell anything dangerous. Little did I know that was because the wind died down. It was too late that I heard, and half of a half of a second later scented the coyote right behind me.
It lunged at me, and I sprang forward, though it caught my hind hoof and twisted. I kicked out, landed a hoof on it, but it ignored the sharp pain it must have felt and drug me down. I struggled, but it went for the kill....
Lucky me, the lead stallion suddenly appeared, charging the coyote, pounding his hooves at it. His ebony coat streaked with sweat from the hot Oregon sun as he drove it away, and it didn't need a second thought to be running like the devil was chasing it, because honestly, the devil might as well been chasing it.
That was a close call. I limped for a week, though I could still run, and I can't say anyone was mad at me, but the stallion of the herd flicked his ears at me disapprovingly. I think he meant that, that was too close and I had better learn to trust my herd.
The thing is, though, is that while I was a bit more flighty, more situations, maybe not so dangerous, happened.
One time, I was walking through the tall, wispy brown grass, when I saw this rock, and on top, a curled up......something. It was brown also, and it lay there still....I moved forward, and inched my nose closer......and suddenly the thing curled backward even tighter, one end of it rose up, and another end made a rattling sound that hissed through the air; I reared up and spun around, instantly knowing that this was something that did not like me, and I shouldn't like it. I later learned it was a "rattlesnake" in our mental language. And then I also kept sensual memories of it to remember to run if one is ever near.
My age, I am starting to eat grass as much as I drink milk; Maybe I eat it more than milk, actually; The grass, it tastes....... interesting. All the adult horses can't seem to get enough of it. Some of the other young ones, who are older than me, eat it like an adult, while others, younger than me, still survive mainly on milk. And then the foals just drink milk; See, I'm not really a foal, yet not an adult; I can still be considered a "baby" or "young-un", but I'm not yet old enough to be called a "young mare". My mother says I am about eight seasons old; I was born in late Summer, I lived through Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, and now, Summer once more; So, about two years.
Today, the lead mare, who is my mother, walks at the front, leading us to a new grazing ground; I will tell of all the horses in the herd.
Honeysuckle, the lead mare, is my mother. She is a golden palomino, and her body build is strong, yet sleek, fierce yet gentle.
Desperado is the lead stallion; He has, like some of the other foals and yearlings around me, sired me. He is a strong and fast stallion, determined and considerate, beguiling when it comes to stealing mares; He know his ebony black coat blends into the night, and he uses that to his advantage.
There are six older, experienced mares in total, not including my mother; So technically there are seven, but my mother is the best of them all.
Bluebird is a strikingly beautiful blue roan. She isn't young, but she definitely isn't elderly; She is fast, I'll give her that; Almost as fast as Honeysuckle.
Copperstone is an elegant chestnut; She isn't as fast as Bluebird, but she is pretty agile, surefooted.
Feather is a tri-colored paint of the most unique pattern I have ever seen; Her bay is the deepest brown, and her white is striking; And her black mane and tail adds the last touch.
Iceberg; Her coat is silky white, her skin an ashy grey, and her mane and tail a mixture of white and grey strands, some light and some dark, creating a beautiful coloring.
Blood bay; A fiery black mane and tail, coat a deep red, almost as like the glow of embers; Legs of coal; Hooves of iron; Wildfire. She is impressive, I must admit, as I cannot say she isn't; It is impossible to say this mare is not impressive. She is the strongest of all the mares, an attitude to match; In fact, Wildfire was a challenge to my mother; Honeysuckle almost lost her rank. But what Wildfire lacks, is the speed of a lead mare. This is what faltered her.
And then there's Plain. The last mare. And what can I say, if you judge her by her looks....she's plain. She is palomino, but so light you can barely tell; She was named after the landform, but honestly, I think her being a "plain" horse on the outside had something to do with it......but on the inside is a different matter. If you ever want a friendly buddy, who gets along with you, or anyone, Plain is the mare to hang with.
So there are seven mature mares: Honeysuckle, Bluebird, Copperstone, Feather, Iceberg, Wildfire, and Plain. The oldest being Iceberg, who is forty seasons, or nine years, and two seasons old.
And then for the young mares, there are three; Cotton, a frisky, three-years and-one-season-old version of Iceberg; In fact, she is Iceberg's first foal.
Ebony, A midnight black; She is first born of Wildfire, being three years old.
Persimmon, first filly of Plain; Only a darker, more brown coloring. She is three years and three seasons old, the oldest of the three.
Now for the yearlings; Or well, one through two year range; Not foals, but not mature yet. There is Autumn, a chestnut filly, second born of Wildfire, one year and three seasons; She is my favorite to play with, because we pretend to be full-grown mares and fight for to be leader. I win sometimes, other times, she wins.
Ashes, Iron grey, first born of Copperstone, one year old; He irritates me. He tends to pretend to be the lead stallion of the younger group of us. I usually kick him, bite him, anything painful that gets the message across.
Warrior is a black and white, and has his own unique pattern that resembles his dam's coat, Feather. He is her first.
And the last, but the oldest, is me. I am two years; I have a jet black mane and tail, and a dorsal stripe that starts at the end of my mane, runs down the middle of my back all the way to the beginning of my tail. My coat color is a crisp golden, and my legs are also black, almost - if not as - black as my mane and tail. I am the only one of my color in the herd.
Now for the foals, which are only a filly, and a colt. Skyleaf is a muddy brown, mane, tail, coat, everything; Except for a facial marking of a white snip on her muzzle, and her front left leg has a white sock; Her hooves are also not muddy brown. She is one season old.
Though Skyleaf is a cute foal, my favorite is Eclipse; My full brother. He is one season old, and is almost the exact replica of our sire, Desperado.
Altogether, the herd has eighteen members; And actually, I'm only half-sister to Autumn, Ashes, Warrior, and Skyleaf.
You see, over my lifetime, I have learned that Desperado had actually stole the start of the herd from another stallion, who was supposedly of the name Thunderstorm; Honeysuckle was not from Thunderstorm's herd though, she was from another. Thunderstorm's herd, when Desperado stole it, consisted of Wildfire(who was lead mare), Iceberg, and Plain; All three later had foals, whom they named Cotton, Ebony, and Persimmon; They were all sired by Thunderstorm.
Then, Desperado took two more mares from another herd; Copperstone and Feather. Wildfire remained lead mare.
Not long after though, maybe a few days, Desperado caught a scent in the wind of a lone mare: Honeysuckle. And so when she came, she took over lead mare.
And then, I was born. And following me, was Autumn. And then, Ashes, and afterwards, Warrior.
Now you may have noticed I have not mentioned Bluebird in the herd yet; That is because she is quite new, only having been with us a third of a season or so.
Anyways, enough with all that history.
Desperado: Black, Lead Stallion
Honey Suckle: Palomino, Lead Mare
Offspring: Summer, Eclipse
Bluebird: Blue roan
Offspring: pregnant
Copperstone: Chestnut
Offspring: Ashes, Skyleaf
Feather: Bay tri-color
Offspring: Warrior, pregnant
Iceberg: White
Offspring: Cotton, pregnant
Wildfire: Blood bay
Offspring: Ebony, Autumn
Plain: very light palomino
Offspring: Persimmon, pregnant
Cotton: White, First born of Iceberg, Three years and one season, Young Mare
Ebony: Black, First born of Wildfire, Three years, Young Mare
Persimmon: Palomino, First born of Plain, Three years and three seasons, Young Mare
Summer: Dun, First born of Honeysuckle, Two years, Filly
Autumn: Chestnut, Second born of Wildfire, One year and three seasons, Filly
Ashes: Iron grey, First born of Copperstone, One year, Colt
Warrior: Black white overo, First born of Feather, One year, Colt
Skyleaf: Muddy brown, Second born of Copperstone, One Season, Filly - No Longer Alive.
Eclipse: Black, Second born of Honeysuckle, One season, Colt
(Not In Summer's Herd)
Sunstorm: Palomino, Two years and one season, Colt
Mustang Heart
Prologue
I know many dangers of the world. But I also know that we -I- rely on my herd to be safe. My senses, along with everyone else's, keep us alive. We know our signals. Or at least, they do. They're smart. Sometimes though, I'm 'less immature' than the others my age as they seem to 'signal'; And also say. See, we can converge our own mental language of emotions into what we are asking, saying, commanding(etc.)and send it to the horse we want; We do not send these 'messages' often though; Usually we use our body language, as we tend to use the mental language as little as possible.
Anyways, as I mentioned before I explained how we communicated, the other horses think me as immature for my age.
For instance, one time one of the mares in the herd caught a whif of the scent of coyote. Coyotes will attack the weak, but they leave the strong alone. They know when, where, and why to go after something, or someone.
The mare who scented the coyote spooked, and the others followed her cue; Everyone except me. I know, all the other foals ran away. In fact, I've never, ever heard of a foal staying in the wake of danger. Either way, I stayed, and looked, listened, smelled. I didn't smell anything dangerous. Little did I know that was because the wind died down. It was too late that I heard, and half of a half of a second later scented the coyote right behind me.
It lunged at me, and I sprang forward, though it caught my hind hoof and twisted. I kicked out, landed a hoof on it, but it ignored the sharp pain it must have felt and drug me down. I struggled, but it went for the kill....
Lucky me, the lead stallion suddenly appeared, charging the coyote, pounding his hooves at it. His ebony coat streaked with sweat from the hot Oregon sun as he drove it away, and it didn't need a second thought to be running like the devil was chasing it, because honestly, the devil might as well been chasing it.
That was a close call. I limped for a week, though I could still run, and I can't say anyone was mad at me, but the stallion of the herd flicked his ears at me disapprovingly. I think he meant that, that was too close and I had better learn to trust my herd.
The thing is, though, is that while I was a bit more flighty, more situations, maybe not so dangerous, happened.
One time, I was walking through the tall, wispy brown grass, when I saw this rock, and on top, a curled up......something. It was brown also, and it lay there still....I moved forward, and inched my nose closer......and suddenly the thing curled backward even tighter, one end of it rose up, and another end made a rattling sound that hissed through the air; I reared up and spun around, instantly knowing that this was something that did not like me, and I shouldn't like it. I later learned it was a "rattlesnake" in our mental language. And then I also kept sensual memories of it to remember to run if one is ever near.
My age, I am starting to eat grass as much as I drink milk; Maybe I eat it more than milk, actually; The grass, it tastes....... interesting. All the adult horses can't seem to get enough of it. Some of the other young ones, who are older than me, eat it like an adult, while others, younger than me, still survive mainly on milk. And then the foals just drink milk; See, I'm not really a foal, yet not an adult; I can still be considered a "baby" or "young-un", but I'm not yet old enough to be called a "young mare". My mother says I am about eight seasons old; I was born in late Summer, I lived through Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, and now, Summer once more; So, about two years.
Today, the lead mare, who is my mother, walks at the front, leading us to a new grazing ground; I will tell of all the horses in the herd.
Honeysuckle, the lead mare, is my mother. She is a golden palomino, and her body build is strong, yet sleek, fierce yet gentle.
Desperado is the lead stallion; He has, like some of the other foals and yearlings around me, sired me. He is a strong and fast stallion, determined and considerate, beguiling when it comes to stealing mares; He know his ebony black coat blends into the night, and he uses that to his advantage.
There are six older, experienced mares in total, not including my mother; So technically there are seven, but my mother is the best of them all.
Bluebird is a strikingly beautiful blue roan. She isn't young, but she definitely isn't elderly; She is fast, I'll give her that; Almost as fast as Honeysuckle.
Copperstone is an elegant chestnut; She isn't as fast as Bluebird, but she is pretty agile, surefooted.
Feather is a tri-colored paint of the most unique pattern I have ever seen; Her bay is the deepest brown, and her white is striking; And her black mane and tail adds the last touch.
Iceberg; Her coat is silky white, her skin an ashy grey, and her mane and tail a mixture of white and grey strands, some light and some dark, creating a beautiful coloring.
Blood bay; A fiery black mane and tail, coat a deep red, almost as like the glow of embers; Legs of coal; Hooves of iron; Wildfire. She is impressive, I must admit, as I cannot say she isn't; It is impossible to say this mare is not impressive. She is the strongest of all the mares, an attitude to match; In fact, Wildfire was a challenge to my mother; Honeysuckle almost lost her rank. But what Wildfire lacks, is the speed of a lead mare. This is what faltered her.
And then there's Plain. The last mare. And what can I say, if you judge her by her looks....she's plain. She is palomino, but so light you can barely tell; She was named after the landform, but honestly, I think her being a "plain" horse on the outside had something to do with it......but on the inside is a different matter. If you ever want a friendly buddy, who gets along with you, or anyone, Plain is the mare to hang with.
So there are seven mature mares: Honeysuckle, Bluebird, Copperstone, Feather, Iceberg, Wildfire, and Plain. The oldest being Iceberg, who is forty seasons, or nine years, and two seasons old.
And then for the young mares, there are three; Cotton, a frisky, three-years and-one-season-old version of Iceberg; In fact, she is Iceberg's first foal.
Ebony, A midnight black; She is first born of Wildfire, being three years old.
Persimmon, first filly of Plain; Only a darker, more brown coloring. She is three years and three seasons old, the oldest of the three.
Now for the yearlings; Or well, one through two year range; Not foals, but not mature yet. There is Autumn, a chestnut filly, second born of Wildfire, one year and three seasons; She is my favorite to play with, because we pretend to be full-grown mares and fight for to be leader. I win sometimes, other times, she wins.
Ashes, Iron grey, first born of Copperstone, one year old; He irritates me. He tends to pretend to be the lead stallion of the younger group of us. I usually kick him, bite him, anything painful that gets the message across.
Warrior is a black and white, and has his own unique pattern that resembles his dam's coat, Feather. He is her first.
And the last, but the oldest, is me. I am two years; I have a jet black mane and tail, and a dorsal stripe that starts at the end of my mane, runs down the middle of my back all the way to the beginning of my tail. My coat color is a crisp golden, and my legs are also black, almost - if not as - black as my mane and tail. I am the only one of my color in the herd.
Now for the foals, which are only a filly, and a colt. Skyleaf is a muddy brown, mane, tail, coat, everything; Except for a facial marking of a white snip on her muzzle, and her front left leg has a white sock; Her hooves are also not muddy brown. She is one season old.
Though Skyleaf is a cute foal, my favorite is Eclipse; My full brother. He is one season old, and is almost the exact replica of our sire, Desperado.
Altogether, the herd has eighteen members; And actually, I'm only half-sister to Autumn, Ashes, Warrior, and Skyleaf.
You see, over my lifetime, I have learned that Desperado had actually stole the start of the herd from another stallion, who was supposedly of the name Thunderstorm; Honeysuckle was not from Thunderstorm's herd though, she was from another. Thunderstorm's herd, when Desperado stole it, consisted of Wildfire(who was lead mare), Iceberg, and Plain; All three later had foals, whom they named Cotton, Ebony, and Persimmon; They were all sired by Thunderstorm.
Then, Desperado took two more mares from another herd; Copperstone and Feather. Wildfire remained lead mare.
Not long after though, maybe a few days, Desperado caught a scent in the wind of a lone mare: Honeysuckle. And so when she came, she took over lead mare.
And then, I was born. And following me, was Autumn. And then, Ashes, and afterwards, Warrior.
Now you may have noticed I have not mentioned Bluebird in the herd yet; That is because she is quite new, only having been with us a third of a season or so.
Anyways, enough with all that history.