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08-08-2014, 12:00 PM
![[Image: m5Z0Uuk.png]](http://i.imgur.com/m5Z0Uuk.png)
A perfect day out today; not too hot, the air is still, and the birds sing. What better contestant to interrupt the peace than a thick headed, hormonal girl? A dot appears in the the clouds, inconspicuously growing larger with each passing second. As it does the dot gains shape, it is a horse. A flying, winged horse. The mare snorts, her nostrils quiver with the vicious exhale. Her maw opens to trumpet her arrival with a cry that echos through the trees. Her pale blue eyes scan the trees below her as the ground closes in fast. She soars into the tree ravines closing in on a grassy clearing, she does so with such speed one would think she could be fleeing something. Her body tilts back and her tail feathers lurch forward as her wings beat ferociously to slow her down enough for a landing. But as her feet touch the ground she does not break to a halt, in fact she continues to move. Her tail feathers close and her large awkward wings fold like a cape to her back, and she does so in a manner so graceful only experience could give. The mare's feet danced off the ground in third beat movement as though she were touching fire, only after a few strides does she bother to slow to a stop. This awaited moment of stationary brings about an unclear anxiety to the clay red girl. With her head erect she looks around with uncertainty, first to the trees then to the sky from whence she came. She flicked her tail in agitation. Where has he gone? He can't leave her just yet! Man, who the hell does he think he is? The mare re-leaves herself with another explosive snort, shaking the tension from her neck. She can't keep flying, horses just aren't meant to fly. She's flown for miles now and her shoulders ache and burn with fire. Hell she's jogged for longer without exhausting herself like flying does. The clay red mare examines the trees once more with suspicion. She hates trees, they are a gamble. Good for stealth, but impossible to fly out of without risking injury or death. She's seen it happen before, some reckless colt trying to take off in the middle of a forest thinking his wings would just slice through those branches and defy the laws of physics. The colt was lucky enough to end up with only a broken wing capable of healing. Weighing her options, the mare decides to curl up under a low, looming tree on the edge of the forest. The fingers of the tree raked over her, blocking the birds eye view. She could relax; her legs folded under her, and her wings sagged off her back and splayed lazily onto the ground. Already she missed the mountains, the air is cool in the mountains. With plenty of open space and places to land where you can look over your territory. |
