03-16-2016, 04:45 PM
She is weary. Long days of travel have slowly robbed her of stamina until the fire in her eyes became more of a spark, the haughty toss of her head more of an acknowledging flick. Her pace is no longer rushed, eager, adventuresome - a slow plod takes her into the field. Her head is not down, (Xocolatl is still too young, too full of pride for mere exhaustion to prompt that), but the nod of her head is sleepy, and her eyes less than alert.
Rest, her body whispers to her.
Fine. Rest.
The field holds other horses in it, some of the first ones she's seen in her days of travel, and though she can find no urge to join any of their conversations, the feeling is peaceful. Perhaps her lack of sleep has tricked her into a tired sort of complacency, but she senses no danger from the land.
Her legs ache, urging her to halt. She chooses to pause under the shade of a small tree, still sweaty from her journey and seeking reprieve from the late summer sun. It's truly a beautiful place, this field. The bright sunny colors of the valley clash vibrantly with its pockets of shade, and even with autumn approaching, the area hums with life.
Still, the dusty trails have worn her down, and the sun dapples her bay coat with spots of heat through the leaves of the tree above her, and slowly, slowly, her eyes begin to close.
Rest, her body whispers to her.
Fine. Rest.
The field holds other horses in it, some of the first ones she's seen in her days of travel, and though she can find no urge to join any of their conversations, the feeling is peaceful. Perhaps her lack of sleep has tricked her into a tired sort of complacency, but she senses no danger from the land.
Her legs ache, urging her to halt. She chooses to pause under the shade of a small tree, still sweaty from her journey and seeking reprieve from the late summer sun. It's truly a beautiful place, this field. The bright sunny colors of the valley clash vibrantly with its pockets of shade, and even with autumn approaching, the area hums with life.
Still, the dusty trails have worn her down, and the sun dapples her bay coat with spots of heat through the leaves of the tree above her, and slowly, slowly, her eyes begin to close.