i {too} am not a bit TAMED [open]

[Forte]

Life is incessant motion: the way the light catches on each blade of dewed grass, the way the shadows move like so many ants across the dust. Only death was solitude, was quiet, was absolute still, and even then maybe not. Temujin dreaded to think that he would live on long after his breath halted and his hooved moved. Death was a welcome thing for him, although driven by some primal nature to survive, to proliferate, and to see if there was some comfort left in his bones and skin. It was dawn, one of those times when the horse is most active at grazing. Although he had shed blood, he had killed, Temujin was not a predatory animal. Far from it. Now he stood, head to the ground, in one of those many-times-trodden patches, where the grass was never left to grow much longer than its current thin clip.

Every so often the head would raise, the neck gleaming as dark as blood, the nares flaring and the eyes, light as amber, piercing the distance in instants. There was little but the wind to rattle in the trees, but even such noise could throw the solitary stallion out of ease. These were not the lands of his brethren, and even though he was capable of putting up a fight, he would not stand a chance against an enemy party but were it for the swiftness of his heels. He was not particularly wary of an attack, of course, but the wise leave nothing unsuspected, and more than once before he had looked up to see the cold eyes of the wolf upon him. Of course, any horse worth half his weight in good grass could take on a wolf or even a cougar, but such animals were dangerous in numbers.

Almost paradoxical, then, that the snake was to be the most feared, and the snake did not seek out the horse. Temujin was uncomfortable in the canyon and the desert where the Tomahawks usually resided, the lands were far too close to the scaly beasts for his liking. Any stone turned over by a hoof could warrant a fearful strike by an adder or a rattler, and he had learned through experience that such was an unpleasant experience and one he would rather avoid. Now he threw up his head, full and feeling young and lively in the morning air. It was cool, and the ever-present cloud cover made it cooler, not yet giving way to the muggy afternoon heat and sunshine all about. Without really thinking about it, he moved into a trot, one of those low, extended gaits that the horse can hold steady for miles on end.

Not that he was going anywhere, as he waded in knee-deep to a higher patch of swaying oats. These, too, were good to eat, and he chewed a stalk in the manner of the horse, with the long ends hanging from the sides of his mouth and a look of almost bliss upon his face. It was a luxury for any horse, and the weather provided abundant feed to build up a layer of tallow that would be essential in the colder months. He was more aware here, for there would be others come to enjoy the rich abundance of the land and the grain now that it was ready to be eaten. This patch would not remain long, although it was in fact a rather good-sized strain of barley and other things good to eat. Temujin was glad enough to get his mouthful, though not particularly hungry. There was the scent of others here, and he was on his guard, ready to meet them if the chance came.

[[esperanza]]

They had been camping out here overnight, and she had been tethered to a tree near a stream. But the human hadn't tied the knot nearly tight enough (as a soldier, he should have known better). Night on the open plains had frightened the restless mare, who was new to such things, and once at an owl's call she had strained her neck to the sound. The rope fell off and brushed across her flank, spooking the skittish mare, and she had cantered off. To her knowledge, her footfalls hadn't even woken the sleepy soldier.

Now it was early morning. She had slept little and wandered much. The halter was beginning to itch, and the rope dragging behind her on the ground was strange and bothersome. And she was hungry.

What was that scent? Oats? The mare lifted her head, trotting toward the welcoming aroma, only to stop short in confusion. Those strange looking plants...they weren't oats, were they? She dropped her muzzle toward one. They smelled like oats, definately, but she wouldn't eat it if it wasn't in a food trough for her. They might not have been safe.

Snorting in disappointment, the mare lifted her head once more, only to catch sight of a mostly-white stallion close by. She froze. Was that...could it be...a wild stallion?

[Forte]

Temujin saw Robin long before she did him. Perhaps it was the scent - that bitter, vitriolic smell of man and the cleanliness that man brings, that harsh scent of leather and sweat. He had turned to flee in the other direction, not particularly concerned. Not one of those corn-fed slick and silky man-horses could catch him if they tried. His was the intellect of the wild horse, keen and tuned to such a high pitch that the wind brings thousands of fleet messangers to his ears. But something made him stop, turn, and glance again. There was no man here, only another of his own kind, imprisoned in those trappings that man brings but essentially the same. A bit oblivious? Yes, or she would have known he was there long before, or soon after. But as it were, he stood stock still, the only motion the incessant swish of a tail and the flaring of the nostrils as he waited to see what she would do.

"It's good to eat, you know," he said, when he saw her turn her nose away and notice him finally. Disgust churned somewhere deep within him at the sheer and lazy stupidity of the mare at that. Had man really managed to so totally obliviate any instinct of the wild horse? He kept them in pastures where none but the thinnest grass grew, not even the rare patch of coltsfoot or alfalfa, and only gave them the grain that kept up the very essense of their strength when it suited him. The wild horse was free to forage, and his instincts would keep him from the founder and overfeeding that seemed so common among the rank and file of the captive horse. Temujin's words, however, were more curious than bitter. It was but rarely that a horse escaped from its captors and wandered out on its own, or at least one so obviously raised among men.

"Where is the human? The one who brought you here?" he asked after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. His voice couldn't hide what he felt for the contemptable furless species that deemed himself better than all others. Better to know, so that Temujin himself wouldn't have a run-in with the man, although there was no way that the soldier could capture him without a horse. "I am Temujin, of the Tomahawks, those that fight and kill and raid across the countryside. We are as impassable as the mountain and as predatory as the wolf, and if you deign to bring that sickly little petulant worm you call 'master' into our lands, our herds, it will be your blood on the rocks, and his as well." He said this last darkly, but not as if he felt her any serious threat. What if she had decided to leave the army for good, to live like he did in the wilds? Such a thing was not unheard of, but he did not even consider it over the current threat of her very being here.