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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 1, 2007 19:01:26 GMT -5
A vixen came trotting into the lands. She glanced around with her amazing dark emerald optics. Her crimson coat shimmered in the sun rays that escaped through the dark clouds that loomed over head. The valley’s grass was a very dark emerald color. There were two mountain strips on either side of the valley. The valley was huge though so you didn’t feel cramped. On the side the vixen stood lead to the wild. On the other side of the valley there was an opening that led to where the two legged lived. One side led to freedom the other to halters, cramped stalls and being ridden every day. There was a fine line that separated the stupid and the brave equines that came to these parts. The brave dared to mess with the humans and narrowly escape back o freedom. The stupid, the stupid would come knowing they were going to get caught and would fall for all the tricks that the humans pulled.
This vixen looked to be the brave type. You could tell just by her posture. She held her dial high, her visage was expressionless, and she stood tall stretching to her full height of fifteen point three hands high. She snorted and studied the lands that stretched in front of her. Her dark emerald optics darted around the place not seeing a soul. The vixen broke into a canter and cantered down into the valley. She halted in the middle of the valley and reared up. A call escaped from her vocals. She called for another equine or any humans who dared try and capture her. She was a quick in pace and in mind. Not many humans would be able to fool her into coming back to there ranch or stable.
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 2, 2007 17:11:17 GMT -5
The wind blew the strands of forlock onto his face, his brown painted felt had the markings of the pinto, but his blood was of the Mustangs.. and it proved itself as he acted. The 3 summers he had survived, he traveled great distances, not knowing what really to make of his young self. He felt the wild flow in his blood, the nightmares of the creature holding the metal.. forcing it into his mug but one could not coax this firey beast into coming with the creatures.. The wind, carried him forward as he loped now, his painted skin as rugged as himself. He knew, like his sire he was equal to a firecracker, to gaze at he is amazing but to touch he would burn the flesh from your frame.. his carcass was of a well grown colt, with the temper of the devil.
He stood, like any mustang would.. his banner highlighted in black, white and brown was as unique as he. One sapphire orb, as the other shown as dark as the night itself. His tail, was like a work of art in the most elegant musuem, the black tip, was greeted by a waterfall of brown, highlighted with white that no picture, or artist could reproduce on the pure sheets of paper.. not a single brush could flow with his rapid, wild movements. He snorted savagly as he entered the low valley, dust drowned the empire as he scented the smell of another equine.. did he? Or was his nares fooling him? He had never seen, or felt the human wrath but he knew, they had stepped on this earth..
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 3, 2007 22:15:35 GMT -5
The vixen’s optics fell upon the brute. She had seen others like him; each of his optics a different colors and a pinto pelt. Many pintos had optics like that. She didn’t look at many broncs as special. Sure they were different but they weren’t special. Plus, she had met many, many stags in her three summers on this earth. None were special to her, some even looked the same. The only way she could ever tell them apart was by there markings. All the stags she had met were usually the color of ebony. It drove her insane that most dark equines were black. Just because you were dark didn’t mean your pelt needed be. She had once known a golden hued bronc that had been a dark. He was cruel and savage. He may have looked like a light but he was a dark at heart. He had been something. She had admired him for what he was. Others were just dark wannabes. They acted dark but weren’t a true dark. She was a neutral, neither dark nor light. She was both light and dark; most of the time she leaned toward her dark side. She didn’t know why; it was just her, she had decided. Her younger sister was the same as her except her pelt was ivory, not crimson. Plus Temptation was flirty, she was quick witted though and that made up for a lot. Sometimes she grew jealous of her sister. She had it all. She was beautiful and made all the stags’ maws drop. She was clever and charming. She could bend and become dark or light; she had a difficult becoming light though. Sin shook the thoughts of her sister out of her head then broke into a trot, stirring up some dust as she paced.
Sin arched her boa and pinned her thorns flat against her skull. She let her back daggers soar into the air like bullets from a pistol. Her back daggers landed back on the earth. She stretched her pillars forward and bolted into a gallop. Her daggers thundered against the earth as she galloped across the valley toward the two legged. She let her back daggers fly a few more times then stopped. She continued to gallop strait forward, not faltering in the least. Her heart raced furiously as she raced onward. She would make a great race horse or an endurance horse, if the humans could tame down her cruel streak and catch her. She loved to taunt the humans, her optics and body language just teased them, seeming to say: Catch me if you can!
Only a few leagues away from the border between the valley and the territory of the two legged the young vixen wheeled around with amazing speed. Dirt flew everywhere as she turned. Pushing down on the ground with her hind pillars gave her an extra burst of speed. She galloped back, the surroundings passing her as a blur as she galloped on by. She saw the bronc out of the corner of her dark emerald optic. She decided to go visit the bronc, seeing that there were no other equines or humans around. She had nothing better to do and she was bored as well. She hoped this bronc wasn’t like some others she had met; totally full of themselves and had an over inflated ego. She slowed to a canter then a walk in three steps. She strode up to the bronc and halted a few feet away from him. Hello. She said to the bronc and studied him, putting his image in her head.
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 5, 2007 17:16:05 GMT -5
His carcass, was not like most others, his markings were rare, he had a medicine hat marking.. one that often breeders valued and the Native Americans valued greatly. The stockings on his pistons, were as any other equines. He knew, all the equines in the world, were not affected by the color they had on their hides, but by their true colors deep inside. Although, he has his temper at times and most blame the colt's personality on his color, his blood... He flickered his auds as he heard the movement of something in the distance.. someting was out there in this atmosphere.. He heard the flow of mane in the wind, or more likely his optics picked up the image. He raised his crania high to see this other equine, a femme. He, unlike the much younger foals did not seek to chase a huntress, nor to invade her space. He knew, not to judge the mistress based on what he hear on them, but what we see..
The mustang gave a stubborn snort as he stood his ground, he did not want to make an aggressive move, but to show he was not like the weaker equines, and he did not pose as any danger. His highlighted plumage was picked by the wind, as it playfully tossed it about like a toddler was playing around with it. It was the most unique tail, most unique dreads the world had produced into a young stag. He had seen her run, the vixen. Her dashing speed, untamed cruelness and the power to race with neverending speed.. he turned to return her reply..
Hello He stated somewhat shortly, his maw speaking the lyric clearly. His dreads nearly touched the tip of his nares.. they delicately shaded his pools. The thought of this creature.. with only two legs, as his dam had described to him.. sounded as if the devil had sent them to capture all equines.. capture all..
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 6, 2007 20:27:14 GMT -5
Bump
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 16, 2007 19:25:05 GMT -5
Hello?
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 16, 2007 20:41:59 GMT -5
{sorry, I'll get right on it}
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 16, 2007 21:09:17 GMT -5
No problem, when do we bring in the people?
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 16, 2007 21:26:11 GMT -5
The vixen raised her dial. She pinned her auds back slightly. She hadn’t taken anything as threat but felt his hot blooded personality rage through him. He was a wild one. One that wasn’t going to surrender himself to the two legged ever. She was some what similar to that. The difference was that she temped fate and did stupid things that would more than likely get her caught. She didn’t care about that though. Why on earth would she care if she got caught? She would only have to break the two legged like they tried to break them. She had to crush their spirits like they did to them. She had to throw them so many times. She had to nip at them, rear and try to kick them. All she had to do was be the worst she could be.
She may be a nice trophy with her crimson pelt, Arabian features and amazing speed. Ha! Speed helped her escape the moronic two legged. They had equines that they rode upon. Equines that had been twisted to serve their masters or who had had their spirits, broken to pieces then crushed over and over again. She did not want to become either of those kinds of equines. Who would? No wild equine in their right mind would, that’s for sure.
Sin hated that she was an Arabian. She hated it more than anything. Why did she hate being an Arabian? She hated it because it was how other equines thought of their breed. That they thought they were pure-bred snobs that broke easily and needed to be pampered and treated with care. That they thought more of themselves and that they needed to be the center of attention. That’s why Sin envied the mustangs. They had a great reputation. They were wild and unbreakable. They were tough and strong. She knew not all mustangs were like that but most were. She had always wanted to be a mustang her whole life. She didn’t want to be the prized vixen’s daughter. She didn’t want to be an Arabian; she wanted to be a mustang.
Sin sighed then walked closer to the bronc. She had nothing to say really. She thought of telling the young bronc her name but thought of the idea for a moment and decided not to. If he wished to find out her name he could ask himself. It would be rude though and there would be an awkward silence between them. She needed to say something or one of them was going to leave. That wasn’t exactly what she wanted because she was slightly carious about this young bronc.
They call me Sin. I’m the vixen your dam warned you about… Sin said her kissers forming a small smirk. She tossed her bloodwashed locks and pawed at the earth stirring up some dust. She didn’t care if she seemed like she was threatening this stag. He hadn’t scared her and even if he charged or did anything she could just run. She wouldn’t really be running away from him but simply racing him. Testing him to see how fast he could really go.
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 17, 2007 20:58:59 GMT -5
His pools had the tint of brown in them, dispite one being different, being odd from the rest, he still knew his fate did not lie in the crippled hands of the two legged beast.
Look, I can't seem to remember...
He stood there, his pools had a taste of flame inside of them, not a single adjective settled in his mind, nor did he mind for speaking the language of the lone creatures.Instead, he never wanted to become one of those prancy, fancy equines he had seen so many winters and summers before this day. Tied to their dial, where puffy feathers, as if the rainbow had been plucked of it's feathers and planted within the leather of the Lippazan's bridle. He had paid no attention to this, but he did take mental notes.
Look at them, they way they prance and dance as if they cared none for our lifestyle. They are too groomed for the mountains, they have never heard the cougar's cry, and not once have this smoke tinted equines ever tasted wild freedom. Not a bit would rest in my mug!
Coming back to reality, he tossed his rugged dial, almost as if he wore thos horrid feathers. His pools, were now slightly covered by his locks, and his plumage, almost like a flag it flew without shame and without a single tamed hair. Those horrid beasts, they would tie their horses to the fence posts, and simply lay their food and water. Never did the horses gallop until their heart, said I can't take this anymore and when the morning sun greeted the skies, they simply flickered their harks and stood, as the large leather piece was rested on his back. Foot in stirrup, the two legged was in control. Why? That horse knew he had the chance, but the unforgiving eye of the human was always looking at his every step, knowing his every flaw.
He stood, pawing back at the soil below him he knew it had not rained in many moons, and was not likely to show any sign of the darkened clouds of the rain. He was not, intimated by this femme, nor did he feel fear around her. His harks flickered, backwards and forward before they rested sideways. They refer to me as Midnight, my coat does not prove it but my temper does He didn't know how to respond to her, but he did and now, he waited her next move.
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 21, 2007 18:55:52 GMT -5
OOC: I'm making me reply right now, but in the entrance post I said there were many dark clouds in the sky.; storm clouds.
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 21, 2007 19:22:10 GMT -5
The vixen raised a brow. What an odd name for him indeed. He was right about the part that his coat didn’t match his name; she wondered what his temperament was like then. Dark? Fiery? She was a bit of a mix of those two personalities. She would always fight; she was a bit of the bad girl and liked to defy the law. She hated it; she only wanted to be free and nothing more. She hated listening to the stupid lead vixens who were bossy and paranoid, always thinking she was going to steal their precious hellion. Sin snorted at the thought of it and pushed it out of her head. She was only going to get herself fired up for no reason thinking back on those moments where these vixens with their over inflated egos would march up to her and tell her to step off their land. One, it wasn’t their land, two she didn’t care. She would stay on that land until the lead stag chased her off.
The darkening skies looked like they were staying for a while. Sin didn’t mind, she loved stormy weather. It made her feel so alive and wild. She adored the feeling right before a storm; a dry storm of course or a wet one. Both were fun. For a dry storm there was a certain smell in the air. It would burn her nostrils and make her spine tingle. The winds would chill her if it was a cool storm or if it was a dry storm on a hot summer day it would be slightly cool but still warm enough to be content. There would be electricity in the air that seemed to zap you and charge your heart and giving you a dose of adrenalin strait into your veins. Then, there would be a strike of lightning and only a few seconds after the booming sound of thunder would roar. If it was close it would be almost defining, if it was far away it would sound like a herd of a thousand horses stomping one of their hooves in unison. She loved the dry storms the most; once they began she would gallop, gallop as fast as she could, tossing her mane and bucking like a bronco at a rodeo.
For the wet storms there would be the same smell in the air as a dry storm. It would still burn your nostrils but not as much, it would be slightly duller. As the first drops begin to fall and reach the ground it would generate another smell. It was a wonderful smell. It felt like when you’d breathe in you were jumping into a cool stream. Then the rain would pour and soak your skin. Lightning would strike and thunder would roar. It was Sin’s favorite weather, she loved storms.
I can see that. She said and took a few steps forward to get a better look at the bronc. She flicked her burgundy banner back and forth a few times then tossed her locks. She reared up slightly and let a small nicker emerge from her vocals.
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 21, 2007 19:24:25 GMT -5
Oops! Sorry
OOC- my horse is acting up, when we put on the saddle so we are leaving it on for a while.
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Post by Unbridled Freedom on Apr 21, 2007 19:46:22 GMT -5
OOC: It's okay.
That sucks, My ant's horse acts like that a lot, he think he's a stallion still and is always acting like a crazy freak... I don't know how my aunt manages to ride him.
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Post by Myth :] on Apr 22, 2007 13:03:39 GMT -5
OOC- Penny doesn't normally act like that, oh well she better get over her stubborn-ness pretty quick
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