P.icture o.f E.ase

[eclipse]

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A gray coat was prancing around the Lakota Corral, his pelt gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. As he stepped and trotted around, the blue paw painted on his hind leg glittered in the sun. His ears were pricked, and his legs were going at a relaxed pace. The colt's brown eyes were bright with joy - he was at peace with himself. There was nothing stopping him from escaping to the wild to the so-called herds that were out there. But was he going to live? No, because he loved his life here. And it showed as he trotted around the outer limits of the corral. Wolf loved his life, and it was quite obvious. His darker mane and tail flew behind him like a banner - inviting to all bystanding fillies. He was the picture of freedom, of liberty.

A so-called captive is what they call me,
But I guarantee you I am free.
As well as loving and caring,
I am always prepared to spring.

Wolf slowly came to a stop, his ears perked as he heard the voice of the one and only Little Owl. The Lakota was saying something, but as a horse, he didn't understand human language. So he merely pranced to the fence. He thrust his head over the top and let Little Owl stroke his velvety nose. The young colt didn't care who was watching, because this was his life. To serve his favorite two-legged and be happy. And he was happy, so therefore Wolf was satisfied. Nuzzling his human one last time, Wolf pulled away and trotted towards the center again, continuing in his circles of ease. But eventually, the young colt slowed to a stop again and let out a wild whinny. [/size][/ul]

[[R].ebel]

“Faster, Cheyenne! Faster!”

Little Creek’s Voice rang through Cheyenne’s ears as she galloped through the Lakota Village, nickering in happiness. She dodged the many two-leggeds that were busy in the late afternoon, most fixing supper that they had hunted down in the morning. Little Creeks’ hootin’ and hollerin’ was easily distinguishable as Cheyenne galloped between the tents, her black mane whipping back in her rider’s face.

“Whoo-hoo! Go Cheyenne!”

Cheyenne answered with a nicker and tossed her head, leaping into a happy buck. The bay ran onward and caught sight of a gray colt, tossing her head in his direction. She felt Little Creek’s weight shift and she knew he was leading her to that direction. Cheyenne turned quickly to the corrale and slid to a stop, Little Creek leaping off her back, laughing. He rubbed her head and gave her hug before patting her neck and leaving to go to his tent. Cheyenne watched him with a smile, then looked to the colt. She nickered in greeting to him, tossing her head.

“Hello there. What’s your name?”

[eclipse]

[/i][/color]

The second a voice reached the colt's auds, he trotted around lithely. His ears perked and Wolf stood tall. His dark gray pelt glistened in the late afternoon sun. Tilting his head curiously, he flared open his nostrils to take in the scent of this newcomer. A filly or mare, one like him. So this certainly wasn't a newcomer to the Lakota - she must have been here a while. But he had never seen her, but the colt ignored that as he took in every aspect of the femme. Tilting his head every which way, he flicked his dark tail with ease. Wolf was completely relaxed. The name's Wolf, he said simply. His voice was gruff but young, showing his youth with obvious clearance. The sound of his name made the colt even prouder, standing twice as composed as he had before.

You don't seem like a stranger,
I feel like I was born in a manger.
I am so curious as to who you are,
So it looks like I'm up to par.

The gray colt began walking in circles again, although around the femme this time instead of in tiny random patterns. His brown eyes were questioning as he took in every feature of her appearance. He felt like a curious fox, snooping around where he possibly shouldn't be. Wolf was indeed curious, considering as he had never spoken with this one before. Which was a strange thing for the social young horse. He was so free-willed, it made it hard to believe he had not encountered this filly before. And so if I may... what's your name, then, doll? he asked. As he completed his round about the femme, he stopped. Wolf tilted his head again, anxious to find out this one's name.[/size]
[/ul]

[[R].ebel]

Cheyenne raised an eye as the colt began to circle her, she watching him just as much as he was watching her. She waited until he had finished he round of circling her before she answered his question with a nod of her head.

“I am Cheyenne, the mount of Little Creek.”

She swished her tail in slight irritance that he had called her ‘doll’ but brushed it off. She watched him curiously as he watched her.

“Is there… something you find… interesting?”

[stormwarning]

Coyote watched from amid the grazers in the loosely packed herd. His head low, but his ears pricked forward until the colt started circling the filly, neck craned out and brown eyes intense.

He couldn't help himself. He had to move closer so that he could overhear. One seemingly lazy step at a time.. lips working at the short grass beneath his hooves, he snuck his way to within earshot. He snorted with brash amusement as the colt 'made his move'.

Real slick. Coyote thought quietly as he continued to 'graze'. Calling a filly any sort of 'affectionate' term before you were familiar with her was a good way to get a hoof in the face. Coyote lifted his head, as she eyeballed the colt and strode gracefully forward, his head held high but not too high and his body completely relaxed.

His dark eyes watched the colt with lazy interest as Wolf, as he called himself, puffed himself up and pranced about .

"No doubt..." He began, his voice Silky smooth and laced with amusement at the colt's brashness. " .. he finds your beauty irresistable. " He paused, for effect, gave her a grin and a gentle head nod. "As would any Horse with a pair of eyes and any sense." He stopped, just out of kick and bite range of both of them and lazily flicked his tail at an itch on his side. "Is he bothering you? "

[[esperanza]]

Set this place on fire

It was a relief, coming out here, but at the same time, it was torture. It was wonderful to feel cool grass beneath his hooves and to smell the wild scents, but it also brought back painful memories biting at the back of his thoughts.

The white stallion trotted toward the Lakota village with deceptive calm. His ivory mane and tail had been cut short; he no longer fought with the bridle and saddle. Nombre, of Darksun blood, could not guess the two-leg's reason for riding out to the Lakotas, but it was a relief to get away from the fort. Broken, that was what he was, but he didn't like to think about that. How could he have let this happen?

The soldier dismounted, tethering the stallion to a corral with some other horses in it before walking away. Nombre stared at them, trying not to envy their freedom. He had learned to ignore the taste of the metal bit in his mouth, but now it seemed unbearable. The stallion turned his head, not wanting to appear rude. He flicked a few flies away with a lazy swish of his tail as he turned to study the painted autumn leaves on the mountains.

Burn it to the ground