EQUINE :: Cross Country Race, Round THREE

EQUINE :: Cross Country Race, Round THREE

Tor Posts: 197

World's Edge Nurse

Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9

Adoptable

09-24-2012, 07:36 PM (This post was last modified: 09-24-2012, 08:24 PM by Tor.)

i am no warrior
but that doesn't mean i don't have fire

The shadows fade to gleaming light as the mare swiftly canters away from the Deep Forest, which was a nightmare to traverse. Clinging roots, fallen branches. Tor shuddered as she remembered leaping over thick fallen tree trunks covered with deep green moss. Moss massaging her hooves turned to hard-packed dirt to tall, swaying grass scattered with sweet flowers. The sky was blue, the sun a cruel yellow disc cradled high. The delicious aroma of the grass hovered in Tor's flaring nostrils, but too soon the grass gave way to awkward, sifting sand that never seemed to stay in one place.

Warm, hot, heat. Sticky on her pelt. Thick in her nostrils. Like syrup. Her hooves thumped the sand, the grains fine yet coarse under her big feet. Tor couldn't feel more clumsy or hot than she did that moment. Perhaps that was why she realized more horses had somehow slipped ahead of her, wavering smudges in the heat. How she damned hated that be-damned heat. I sound like a native horse, Tor realized, and if she had enough energy, she would pull together a loose chuckle. The dunes were loose, low piles of sand resembling waves, shaped by a low wind whispering across them. The roar of the sea snarled at her flank, turquoise blue waters rolling steadily against the dark-brown, wet sand. Seaweed, scattered along the shore. Seashells glinted deep in the dark sand, gold and pink and white. A peculiar smell swirled around them; somewhere between salt, fish, and cat.

But as she strode on, the tobiano could make out a mare. Impossible to describe, simply stunningly beautiful and so unearthly the being was like a mirage. Perhaps the strange, alluring mare was. A hybrid? No, a god. Goddess. Horn of silver, wings of night. A powerful queen; the Goddess of the Moon. The scent of salt hung in the air, a brilliant tang in Tor's desperately flaring red nostrils. But a faint aroma rode on it, the scent Tor imagined moonbeams would smell like; sweet and pure and celestial and completely clean and fresh like mountain air. Which reminded her of her freezing old home. As soon as I'm done, I can run to the Frostbreath Steppe and drink in the cold air. I can look for a mountain and run through the frost and snow. I can drink the water so glacial it is sludgy and chunks of ice float on the top. Tor thought to herself. Muscle worked heavily, painfully slowly, under her thick white and slate gray pelt. Her breath was rasping, grating, through her chest, dragged out and harsh. Almost done. A massive shudder of plain exhaustion surged through the pretty tobiano, yet she somehow dug up more energy. Somehow, impossibly. Lifting her knees, the nearly-exhausted mare reached out, hooves seeking out the best sand. It was loose and deep under her golden feet, sliding and slippery, a final tug on her energy.

She adjusted her path, until she was galloping upon the wet sand and then into the shallows, still making her way south. Flecks of dirt-brown sand splattered her legs, and salt water ran down her feathers. A piece of seaweed caught under her foot, and with a loud snort, she stumbled. A small cut opened up on her lower leg. Pulling herself up, Tor continued on. Look for the prize at the end, Tor. The healer thought to herself. Now, bleeding lightly, foot-weary, muscles aching, mane flopping limply against her neck, the tobiano continued on.

I'm done.

"blah blah blah."

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