| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
09-11-2012, 05:02 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-24-2012, 08:01 PM by Tor.)
bound to wander forever, but maybe not alone
Tor's silver-white mane flickered in the wind like grass swaying on the prairie. The dual-colored tobiano felt oddly like she was running from the pegasus inhabiting the Dragon's Throat as she quickly approached Helovia's heart, dark brown eyes sweeping over the harsh landscape moving towards her. Although clumsy, the mare was pleased to say she hadn't tripped yet, and had gotten a good enough lead at the moment. White knees lifted higher, golden hooves reached out farther as Tor lengthened her already vast stride. Her hooves rasped against the hard black rock, and she could smell the scent of ash and lava, an inexplainable scent, thick on the air, mingling to create a powerful aroma. It wasn't too unpleasant, but she much preferred the sweet air of forest meadows and open fields, or even better, the cold of the tundra kissing her skin.
The Friesian cross quickened yet again, to just slower than a gallop. She could see the twisting gold vein protruding from the black skin of the earth, red bubbling around the edges. It was a drop to the middle, and a shudder twined through her body. The rock turned to slick clay and a plethora of different soils, crushed and firm under her hooves. Tension oozed out of her tense body, and she dropped her head, relaxing her crest. Soon enough, the grass began to grow, and it almost blocked her view despite her tall 17.1 height. It scratched against her skin, but it's heavy scent crossed out the tainted aroma of lava, and Tor welcomed it. On to the Thistle Meadow.
As she ran, her thoughts wandered. The pounding of her huge heart in her chest thudded dully in her ears. She revisited her childhood memories.
Her father was a big stallion, no doubt. Hovering around 18.1, he was a Gypsy Vanner Percheron stud. He was the color of stormclouds, rippled with silver streaks through his mane and tail, dappled thickly with white. An imposing figure, a capable stallion, and a kind one. On the other hand, Tor's mother was a sweet black Friesian, with a delicate muzzle and sparkling violet eyes, an object of constant fascination to a young Tor. They lived as a small herd in the deep of the tundras and arctic, with a young bachelor stallion and a couple of other mares and other young fillies as well as colts. Tor half-closed her eyes, plunging through the grasses, a smile shimmering on her gray lips as she revisited. "Mother, what are those?!" The young filly named Tor squealed, half-rearing. Hundreds of clicking and clacking; a huge herd of caribou, thundering through. Wolves lurked about the edges, and Father lifted his massive head, nostrils flaring.
"Let us leave. The wolves follow the caribou, as is the way of life. We should leave before they begin to tail us." And the herd ran swiftly and smoothly, until the foals were gasping and the mares were weary. Then they began to story-tell. Tor inhaled deeply, remembering the many days with the herd before her father had kindly told her it was time to leave. "Sweetling, you need to leave. You're an older mare now, and it's time to find a mate. Run to the south for twelve days and turn east-south for sixteen days, and you will find a magic land where you will find a loved one." Tor nodded, and after a few kind goodbyes, she ran. She never regretted it, even now. Her parents had never raised her to regret, only to move forward. And so she had heeded them. And now, here she was, running in a race with gods watching over them, blessed with healing magic.
"blah blah blah."
move move move
think think think
TOR
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EQUINE :: Cross Country Race, Round ONE
