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10-13-2012, 06:37 AM
The scent of stallion hung in the air as the large black Shire made his way through the area he had come to call his home. He had no desire to enter the herdlands, for herds and the horses that came with it desired rules and codes and such nonsense. Abyss had no such desires. Rules were for the weak of heart, for those who thought that their actions need controlling.
Abyss needed no such limitations.
His actions were beyond control, and in the years since his mate's murder and the massacre of his herd, his mind had warped into a state of belief that he was owed whatever he could take. Most often, he took lives and he took innocence.
He had been righteous once.
Those days were over though, as gone as surely as the lives of his herd and his family. He hardly cared to relive them, to grow attached to a mare again and have foals with her only to have some beast kill them or take them from him. And he didn't want them anyway. He preferred a different mare every day, for then it was never old.
But lately, lately, it had been a slow week. Mares were hard to come by when many of the mares here either belonged to a herd already and had no desire to consort with his "type," attached to a stallion already and too moral to turn their back, or racist. He had learned, shortly after arrival, that horses with horns protruding from their heads existed and that horses that sprouted wings did as well. And those horses, some of them had no desire to speak with, much less breed with a stallion without...regardless of his looks.
The stallion paused, ears pricked and nostrils flared, hoping to catch the faintest scent or sound of a mare that would fall into his trap.
Abyss needed no such limitations.
His actions were beyond control, and in the years since his mate's murder and the massacre of his herd, his mind had warped into a state of belief that he was owed whatever he could take. Most often, he took lives and he took innocence.
He had been righteous once.
Those days were over though, as gone as surely as the lives of his herd and his family. He hardly cared to relive them, to grow attached to a mare again and have foals with her only to have some beast kill them or take them from him. And he didn't want them anyway. He preferred a different mare every day, for then it was never old.
But lately, lately, it had been a slow week. Mares were hard to come by when many of the mares here either belonged to a herd already and had no desire to consort with his "type," attached to a stallion already and too moral to turn their back, or racist. He had learned, shortly after arrival, that horses with horns protruding from their heads existed and that horses that sprouted wings did as well. And those horses, some of them had no desire to speak with, much less breed with a stallion without...regardless of his looks.
The stallion paused, ears pricked and nostrils flared, hoping to catch the faintest scent or sound of a mare that would fall into his trap.
