Post by Steph on Nov 24, 2010 21:41:17 GMT -5
[/i]V E S T A
Smell, sight, and intuition; the tree senses needed to see the sabino fae. Smell: her spice is as enticing as any mares it’s sweet and calls on the testosterone pumping through their veins. Your orbs have to be trained to find hidden clues, as a faint outline is all that can be seen in the darkness. Intuition, trust your instincts what are they telling you?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cold, to the skin the wind howls, shaking any brush in its path. The woodland creatures have hunkered in for the storm, they felt it coming. Branches are being torn from trees, crashing and shaking the ground as they land. Trees moan as they sway against the powerful gusts, hoping that their roots will hold that tonight won’t be their last. Fields turn to mush as the pelting rain turns dirt into mud and drowns the lush grass. It’s a perfect night fort this wench, death permeates throughout the air, and the roar of the wind feeds the desire to fight. This night took her to the past…
The pounding of hoofs mixes with the roar of the distant thunder. Shrill calls of victory ring out, but the baritone moans of the defeated are also heard. The scent of blood and flesh is carried by the wiping winds; her nostrils widen to take in more of the scent. Pawing at the muddied earth sabino vixen, takes in the atmosphere around her. Her pelt is caked with mud that her white markings appear brown, but she takes no notice, her appearance is the last thing on her mind. Her deep umber pools scan visible area around her taking in every shape she wants to be prepared when he comes. Towers swivel picking up every sound, listing for the pound of his heavy frame. She has been waiting for this night to come, waiting for the chestnut brute to be knocked off his throne, and she was determined to be the one who brought him to his demise. She would not fail, however she knew that it would be a brutal battle that would end in at least one death. His, and if she was taken as well so be it, she was ready.
He arrived, with his head high prancing towards the seductress he was as arrogant and hot headed as ever. Her muscles tensed against her skin, she poised for battle. Her head was held high orbs fixed on the chestnut brute, he was much larger then her but her rage and determination would over power his strength. Things seemed to move in slow motion, as he drew nearer. Once again she pawed at the sloppy earth, the water splashing to her chest, her boa was arched she tossed her head. Contrary to the brutes thoughts she wasn’t backing out, he pushed the morgan maiden to this moment. He weaved his own demise. He came to a halt a few feet away It’s not too late to save your life His tone was mocking and cocky, and she charged.
It was a blur of ebony and sorrel pelts, the battle had began. He wasn’t ready for her advancement and was knocked off balance; he was slow to regain it. She lashed at him, ivories bared thorns sunken into her skull. She found the flesh of his neck and dug in. A scream of pain and anger erupted form the stags chest, he would not be brought down by a mare. He pulled away from her grasp, losing the skin that she held on too. Blood gushed from the wound, running down the sorrel bodice. The scent of his blood drove the sabino mare wild, but it was nothing compared to the taste. The past year had been dedicated to training for this fight, and it was all too surreal that the time had come.
Charging at the vixen the brute reared his pillars slashing at the air above the beauty’s head. Not intimidated by his scale the morgan lady rose on her own legs matching his thrash with her own. He came down with his teeth on her shoulder slicing through her skin. The wound was deep and excruciatingly painful she cried out in pain. He laughed at her backed away and charged. Quickly recovering from the shock the ebony mare charged with the stallion.
Once again slow motion took place. The two equines, both bloody and exhausted from the fight, but neither ready to give; pillars striking the earth, water hitting their already filthy carcasses, it would have made a beautiful painting. Time set in and they collided she hit him straight in the chest shattering his ribs, the impact opened her face and nearly fractured her skull. The brutes velvets parted, but no scream came his chest was too wounded. The vixen however was not, her cry was carried with the wind, it was high pitched and full of pain. The battle refrained as each beast tried to recover, the brute his breath and the vixen her vision. The mare recovered quicker and ceased the opportunity. Stumbling forward the vixen lashed out at the brutes jugular. His bloods splashed on her body, and she let out a chuckle. In a matter of minutes he was dead she left his body for the scavengers.
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The rain was harsh against her pelt, but she liked the feeling, the slight pain felt good. Usually the mare moved undercover, in the shadows leaving little evidence of her presence. But tonight she was in the mood for some fun; she wanted to know what kind of equine lurked in these lands. Behind she left her tracks in the mud and rubbed her scent along a few trees. Deep umber orbs scanned what little she could see in front of her but she ignored her sight, it was useless in these conditions. Instead the morgan mare focused on the aromas around her. The air smelled of smaller creatures, but they held no interest.
Her spice was carried by the wind, and she knew it was only a matter of time until some arrogant brute came to ‘claim’ the new mare, or until some mare tried to befriend her. Well they could both fuck off.
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They should be telling you to run in the other direction. That this wench you are about to approach in hostile and that the blood that courses through her veins is hot, despite the climate that surrounds her. But I have a feeling that you won’t listen. [/color]
Word Count - 1,082
Sound/Song - Hearing Damage- Thom Yorks
notes - Come play with fire
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