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08-20-2013, 07:45 PM
S k e l l s
When you, soldiers, are called into battle, and the odds are grim and there is no hope, do not run. You will only die tired. Taught shivers ran down his spine and through his withers as he walked, his hooves meeting the crimson sand with a gentle clamor. Nervousness laced his breath as it twined from out of his nostrils and into the dark air that surrounded him, and his withers trembled violently with each stride he took. Each fleeting step meant he was that much closer to facing the enemy, if one showed. He'd never really fought before, though he had a sturdy build with grand and quivering muscles that ached to be put to work. Grunting as he thrust his ivory knees into the darkness before him, slowly becoming painfully unaware of where he was at. Here, he stopped. The foals and Rasta were staked not far behind him, as he'd been instructed to guard the outer circle. But with the blankness and cobalt air that surrounded him, he was fearful even still. The ebon stallion stopped, planting his alabaster hooves in the red sand that sprawled out for miles beneath him, and his inhaled a great breath, holding it there in his barrel for a moment. He fathomed it all. Could this be one of my last breaths? He thought, and another series of tingles trickled down his sloping back. It was difficult to make out his figure in the dimly lit area. His raven coat blended fairly into the shadows, and with the frosted light of the moon shining down onto his face, his pearly markings appeared to glow alongside his sterling optics. His mane sparkled solemnly as it dwindled from his crown and parted down the middle of his neck. His tail draped neurotically from his dock, spiraling down to meet the sand. Battles. Waiting. Waiting is the worst part. He concluded, telling himself this as his eyes tried to make out any objects in the darkness. He heard nothing, but there was a faint orange glow deep in the horizon, where the fire was. He could not smell it yet, but he knew it wasn't long before the embers carried in the flaming aroma of which adorned his memories of his home before the Throat. Keeping his ears swiveled to his anterior, carefully listening for any movement that may come. It was real. He had been called to defend his newly found country. While the same jitters laced his marrow, more lively ones of honor and pride joined them. He tossed his skull gently, using a hoof to scrape at the sand as if he were for some reason egging on the challenger. Come and get it. He snorted in the silence. "Alright, bastards, where are you?" 438 words. 0/4 posts Image credits @_gerdus001_ featured on zedge.com |
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