Post by Unbridled Freedom on Mar 19, 2007 0:36:05 GMT -5
A strong wind blew. It carried many scents with it; some of dead and rotting corps of animals that had been devoured by other animals; another of a pack of wolves; Three males and four females. The alpha male of the pack was wounded, you could smell his blood. No others were injured in the pack except the male. It was dangerous for the alpha male, very dangerous. Another male lurked around the pack; he was just waiting for the right moment to claim the pack for himself. Taking in this whole tale by just the smells was a crimson mare. She wasn’t a filly any more; she looked about six springs old. Her crimson pelt was covered in scars; new, old, big and small. She was not of pure blood; her soul was not pure either. She was neither dark nor light; she was both. Her bodice was all muscles; she had no fat on her what so ever. She had turned all the fat she had ever had into stone hard muscles. Her bodice was carved so neatly, there were not many flaws in her bodice, but it hadn’t started out that way. At first she was a young, weak filly. Then she had a few foals, none by choice. She had gained wait each time because of the foals. She worked it off so easily after she had the foals each time.
She hadn’t wished to keep any of the foals. She had left the first foal, which had been a filly. The filly was much like her dam. The filly had a crimson coat, dark chocolate optics and a fiery personality. The filly’s name was Wildfire. Later in life she had met her daughter, Wildfire. Her second foal was because the head slave master forced her. She had given birth to two of his foals, one was a jet black colt, but he was born dead. That had made this crimson mare so happy. She thought it was over but then she gave birth to another foal, the dead colt’s twin sister. She was like her mother as well but she was different. This crimson mare gave up on her second daughter when she fell in love with one of the darkest hellions alive. That dark hellion was called Dark; he had forced her as well. She had given birth to her first live colt. She dropped him off were Dark lived. Dark raised his son; Thief. This crimson mare had never seen him again and never wanted too.
The femmora’s visage was not carved to be the one of an Arabian’s not a thoroughbred. It was carved to the visage of a mustang; a hardy mustang that could handle anything. This femmora was not a pure mustang and had many other bloods running through her veins. It was mostly mustang blood running through her veins though. Her pillars could give a powerful blow to any of her enemies. She had been fighting since she was born and now, now she was strong and feared no one; even the king of the darks. Why should she fear him? He owed her his life, surprisingly. The dark king of these lands was Immortal. He never wanted any one to ever now that he was saved by a femmora. It had happened a few months ago and Immortal wouldn’t dare hurt this crimson femmora.
Immortal and this mare had been fighting at Death Fall. They were fighting on the tallest cliff there, they weren’t going to fight till the death, not this time; but they planned to break each other’s bones. A cougar had lurked up the cliff toward them. Immortal had his back to the large male cougar and this crimson mare had seen the cougar. She hid her emotions so well so he would never be able to tell that a creature was behind him, about to launch it’s self onto his back and sink its teeth into his neck. This femmora would not fight dirty; she would not let another creature defeat her enemy for her. The femmora had ran past Immortal toward the cougar. She reared above the cougar taking it by surprise. She almost stomped on it then turned around and kicked it. The cougar ran away with a few broken ribs; luckily nothing more. Immortal had turned around thinking the femmora was running away from the battle, he had seen her save his life; that cougar would have surly killed him in seconds. The two of them called a truce and until Immortal saved her life or just that he couldn’t kill her.
He never told any one and never will, he is the dark king now and would never admit that a mere neutral femmora had saved his life.
The crimson femmora tossed her dial and flicked her burgundy banner back and forth a few times. A breeze picked up and blew through the femmora’s burgundy locks. The femmora sighed and gazed around with her dark chocolate optics. No one was there except for her. She sighed and let her thoughts drift off once more.
Her first mate had been the mysterious type. He was the bad boy type as well. She liked that in her old king. It didn’t work out with them though. He abandoned her for some one else. She remembered how angry she had been; she remembered the rage and hate pumping through her blood, giving her more physical strength then she had. She was going to find that stallion and kill him. He never treated her right; he barley even looked at her. That yellow bellied stallion had never deserved her, no stallion deserved her.
The crimson femmora gazed around once more. She raised her nose to the breeze to pick up any scents that it carried. There was nothing really interesting that she picked up on that breeze, but there was one thing. It was a hellion. He was around eight winters old. He had recently been in a fight, no doubt with another dark. A she-devil was with him. She was younger, around four winters. The crimson femmora took another breath in. She also smelt Immortal. He must have been battling with this hellion, maybe trying to steal his femmora; or the other way around. Maybe this new hellion had stolen one of Immortal’s femmoras. No, it was impossible. This femmora knew Immortal fairly well. They could be friends, maybe. She was a neutral after all; she could befriend darks and lights. He would not lose to such an amateur. The femmora kept breathing in this tale. What she had gotten so far was that a hellion around the age of eight winters had just fought with Immortal, king of all the darks. Either Immortal was trying to steal this eight year old hellion’s femmora or the eight year old hellion was trying to steal one of Immortal’s femmoras and succeeded in doing so. This hellion of eight winters and his femmora of only four winters were far away, in the darned lands.
Why did she care of this? She had better things to do. Who was she kidding? She had nothing to do what so ever. She had fought until she was one of the best. She had galloped across these lands and back ten times. She knew it all and she still had many years of living. She had seen it all, done it all. What was there left to do? She needed adventure. She needed to fight once more. She needed to get her adrenalin pumping through her veins once more. Just standing here on a cliff, letting the wind blow through her locks was boring her to death and there was no point to it.
The crimson femmora launched herself onto her hind quarters alone. She stood like a tow legged except she stood differently. She stretched out her long, powerful pillars then curled them in and let them out once more striking at an invisible opponent.
She tossed her dial backwards as a fierce battle cry emerged from her vocals; it had taken many years for her to perfect that cry. To make it just high pitched enough for it to be a battle cry; just low enough for it not to be so high you sounded like you got hit when you called it; just long enough for it to carry across all of the plains and through the mountains; to reach all the auds of every horse that lived within fifty leagues. Her battle cry would bring hellions and stags with light hearts; and every thing in between. Other femmoras would come to see who would answer the call. Some would come to watch the battle; other would come to fight. If they came to fight they would be in for a terrible surprise; one that they probably would have never wanted.
Any stallion that had ever fought her had their dignity tossed off the cliff that they battled upon. Most stallions she fought lost to her. She was too quick and had too many years of fighting experience to lose to a normal stag. Each stag she fought had a story; all horses she met had a story. Some stories were not as interesting as others. And some horse’s stories had been written yet; and they were in the process of being written. In each of these horse’s stories that were always being written she would be in it. She would be known as the character who never told any one her past, who was hard on the outside but did have a soft inside, it just took a long time to get past all of her defenses.
The crimson femmora arched her nape and tucked her chin in. She felt uncomfortable in that position so she stretched out her nape once more. The femmora did not falter or lose her balance as she reared. It was amazing how long she could rear for. How did she do it? Many years of practice. The first few times she had ever reared she had fallen flat on her back; now she reared steadily, her powerful haunches keeping her up and balanced.
Sweat covered the femmora as she came back down to the rock hard earth. The sun was beating strongly against her crimson pelt and it was starting to agitate her. Luckily small, cool breezes came and cooled her off every few seconds. The crimson femmora sighed and gazed around, still no one! This was getting frustrating. How could no one be here?! It was where all sorts of horses fought and it was like a ghost terra! There was no one within a mile. The femmora started to pace back and forth; her auds pinned back in annoyance.
She broke into a gallop and headed to the tallest cliff at Death Fall. She stood near the edge of the cliff and reared once more. She still was as balanced as she had been the first time. She did not do any fancy things with her pillars or nape. She just wanted to get as high as she could so all could hear her battle cry. This time she forced her battle cry to be louder, longer and much more serious; telling every one in auds reach. The crimson femmora came back down and waited; Waited for some one to come, some one to fight her. Some one new; some one fresh. Some one who was going to give her a new adventure. Something exiting to do for a while; because she was bored senseless at the moment. The femmora began to pace once more whipping her burgundy banner back and forth making a cracking sound in the air. She broke into a canter and smoothly loped down into the rolling hills at the bottom of the cliffs. She sighed and continued to whip her banner back and forth agitated that no one was coming; still.
The femmora slowed to a trot then halted in the middle of the whole valley. Hills rolled around her with lush grass upon them. Two huge cliffs towered in back of her; all you needed to do was take one step to cross from one cliff to the next. The cliffs cast eerie shadows as evening started to take over. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, yet it was still light enough to fight.
Even if it did become night she would still be able to battle. Any good fighter would be able to fight in any weather, any time and any where. That brought back another memory to this femmora. It was of another femmora. She was a light and was scared of everything. She would bolt and spook at every sound that came up. That femmora had almost driven her to insanity. This crimson femmora had tried to help the fearful femmora but it had failed terribly. She had not wanted to fight and had said that she was being mean. How did this crimson femmora reply? She had told that femmora I’m not mean your just a sissy. The femmora had burst into tears and ran to her stallion and hid behind him. The crimson femmora had left that herd that very moment. She could not stand femmoras like that.
The crimson mare stood there for a moment, thinking about her past then getting bored she did a small half rear and screamed at the top of her lungs
“ I am Blaze! Come fight me if you dare!”
She hadn’t wished to keep any of the foals. She had left the first foal, which had been a filly. The filly was much like her dam. The filly had a crimson coat, dark chocolate optics and a fiery personality. The filly’s name was Wildfire. Later in life she had met her daughter, Wildfire. Her second foal was because the head slave master forced her. She had given birth to two of his foals, one was a jet black colt, but he was born dead. That had made this crimson mare so happy. She thought it was over but then she gave birth to another foal, the dead colt’s twin sister. She was like her mother as well but she was different. This crimson mare gave up on her second daughter when she fell in love with one of the darkest hellions alive. That dark hellion was called Dark; he had forced her as well. She had given birth to her first live colt. She dropped him off were Dark lived. Dark raised his son; Thief. This crimson mare had never seen him again and never wanted too.
The femmora’s visage was not carved to be the one of an Arabian’s not a thoroughbred. It was carved to the visage of a mustang; a hardy mustang that could handle anything. This femmora was not a pure mustang and had many other bloods running through her veins. It was mostly mustang blood running through her veins though. Her pillars could give a powerful blow to any of her enemies. She had been fighting since she was born and now, now she was strong and feared no one; even the king of the darks. Why should she fear him? He owed her his life, surprisingly. The dark king of these lands was Immortal. He never wanted any one to ever now that he was saved by a femmora. It had happened a few months ago and Immortal wouldn’t dare hurt this crimson femmora.
Immortal and this mare had been fighting at Death Fall. They were fighting on the tallest cliff there, they weren’t going to fight till the death, not this time; but they planned to break each other’s bones. A cougar had lurked up the cliff toward them. Immortal had his back to the large male cougar and this crimson mare had seen the cougar. She hid her emotions so well so he would never be able to tell that a creature was behind him, about to launch it’s self onto his back and sink its teeth into his neck. This femmora would not fight dirty; she would not let another creature defeat her enemy for her. The femmora had ran past Immortal toward the cougar. She reared above the cougar taking it by surprise. She almost stomped on it then turned around and kicked it. The cougar ran away with a few broken ribs; luckily nothing more. Immortal had turned around thinking the femmora was running away from the battle, he had seen her save his life; that cougar would have surly killed him in seconds. The two of them called a truce and until Immortal saved her life or just that he couldn’t kill her.
He never told any one and never will, he is the dark king now and would never admit that a mere neutral femmora had saved his life.
The crimson femmora tossed her dial and flicked her burgundy banner back and forth a few times. A breeze picked up and blew through the femmora’s burgundy locks. The femmora sighed and gazed around with her dark chocolate optics. No one was there except for her. She sighed and let her thoughts drift off once more.
Her first mate had been the mysterious type. He was the bad boy type as well. She liked that in her old king. It didn’t work out with them though. He abandoned her for some one else. She remembered how angry she had been; she remembered the rage and hate pumping through her blood, giving her more physical strength then she had. She was going to find that stallion and kill him. He never treated her right; he barley even looked at her. That yellow bellied stallion had never deserved her, no stallion deserved her.
The crimson femmora gazed around once more. She raised her nose to the breeze to pick up any scents that it carried. There was nothing really interesting that she picked up on that breeze, but there was one thing. It was a hellion. He was around eight winters old. He had recently been in a fight, no doubt with another dark. A she-devil was with him. She was younger, around four winters. The crimson femmora took another breath in. She also smelt Immortal. He must have been battling with this hellion, maybe trying to steal his femmora; or the other way around. Maybe this new hellion had stolen one of Immortal’s femmoras. No, it was impossible. This femmora knew Immortal fairly well. They could be friends, maybe. She was a neutral after all; she could befriend darks and lights. He would not lose to such an amateur. The femmora kept breathing in this tale. What she had gotten so far was that a hellion around the age of eight winters had just fought with Immortal, king of all the darks. Either Immortal was trying to steal this eight year old hellion’s femmora or the eight year old hellion was trying to steal one of Immortal’s femmoras and succeeded in doing so. This hellion of eight winters and his femmora of only four winters were far away, in the darned lands.
Why did she care of this? She had better things to do. Who was she kidding? She had nothing to do what so ever. She had fought until she was one of the best. She had galloped across these lands and back ten times. She knew it all and she still had many years of living. She had seen it all, done it all. What was there left to do? She needed adventure. She needed to fight once more. She needed to get her adrenalin pumping through her veins once more. Just standing here on a cliff, letting the wind blow through her locks was boring her to death and there was no point to it.
The crimson femmora launched herself onto her hind quarters alone. She stood like a tow legged except she stood differently. She stretched out her long, powerful pillars then curled them in and let them out once more striking at an invisible opponent.
She tossed her dial backwards as a fierce battle cry emerged from her vocals; it had taken many years for her to perfect that cry. To make it just high pitched enough for it to be a battle cry; just low enough for it not to be so high you sounded like you got hit when you called it; just long enough for it to carry across all of the plains and through the mountains; to reach all the auds of every horse that lived within fifty leagues. Her battle cry would bring hellions and stags with light hearts; and every thing in between. Other femmoras would come to see who would answer the call. Some would come to watch the battle; other would come to fight. If they came to fight they would be in for a terrible surprise; one that they probably would have never wanted.
Any stallion that had ever fought her had their dignity tossed off the cliff that they battled upon. Most stallions she fought lost to her. She was too quick and had too many years of fighting experience to lose to a normal stag. Each stag she fought had a story; all horses she met had a story. Some stories were not as interesting as others. And some horse’s stories had been written yet; and they were in the process of being written. In each of these horse’s stories that were always being written she would be in it. She would be known as the character who never told any one her past, who was hard on the outside but did have a soft inside, it just took a long time to get past all of her defenses.
The crimson femmora arched her nape and tucked her chin in. She felt uncomfortable in that position so she stretched out her nape once more. The femmora did not falter or lose her balance as she reared. It was amazing how long she could rear for. How did she do it? Many years of practice. The first few times she had ever reared she had fallen flat on her back; now she reared steadily, her powerful haunches keeping her up and balanced.
Sweat covered the femmora as she came back down to the rock hard earth. The sun was beating strongly against her crimson pelt and it was starting to agitate her. Luckily small, cool breezes came and cooled her off every few seconds. The crimson femmora sighed and gazed around, still no one! This was getting frustrating. How could no one be here?! It was where all sorts of horses fought and it was like a ghost terra! There was no one within a mile. The femmora started to pace back and forth; her auds pinned back in annoyance.
She broke into a gallop and headed to the tallest cliff at Death Fall. She stood near the edge of the cliff and reared once more. She still was as balanced as she had been the first time. She did not do any fancy things with her pillars or nape. She just wanted to get as high as she could so all could hear her battle cry. This time she forced her battle cry to be louder, longer and much more serious; telling every one in auds reach. The crimson femmora came back down and waited; Waited for some one to come, some one to fight her. Some one new; some one fresh. Some one who was going to give her a new adventure. Something exiting to do for a while; because she was bored senseless at the moment. The femmora began to pace once more whipping her burgundy banner back and forth making a cracking sound in the air. She broke into a canter and smoothly loped down into the rolling hills at the bottom of the cliffs. She sighed and continued to whip her banner back and forth agitated that no one was coming; still.
The femmora slowed to a trot then halted in the middle of the whole valley. Hills rolled around her with lush grass upon them. Two huge cliffs towered in back of her; all you needed to do was take one step to cross from one cliff to the next. The cliffs cast eerie shadows as evening started to take over. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, yet it was still light enough to fight.
Even if it did become night she would still be able to battle. Any good fighter would be able to fight in any weather, any time and any where. That brought back another memory to this femmora. It was of another femmora. She was a light and was scared of everything. She would bolt and spook at every sound that came up. That femmora had almost driven her to insanity. This crimson femmora had tried to help the fearful femmora but it had failed terribly. She had not wanted to fight and had said that she was being mean. How did this crimson femmora reply? She had told that femmora I’m not mean your just a sissy. The femmora had burst into tears and ran to her stallion and hid behind him. The crimson femmora had left that herd that very moment. She could not stand femmoras like that.
The crimson mare stood there for a moment, thinking about her past then getting bored she did a small half rear and screamed at the top of her lungs
“ I am Blaze! Come fight me if you dare!”
