12-05-2015, 09:16 AM
Moss is not a sleek soft creature; she is as a horse should be - shaped by circumstance, hardened by it even.
She is kind though; it shows in her eyes.
Except to the cowbird that perches further up her back, closer to her neck and out of the way of her gnashing teeth. Even the cowbird isn't minded so much, having become a constant in her life as much as traveling has. She cranes an ear back at the squawk of annoyance from her companion, then both ears tip forward at the sound of footsteps muffled and muddied by grass and snowmelt.
He is vividly marked; that much she can see immediately, bright chestnut mixed with a paint pattern - overo probably, though he stands out even in his large size whereas she does not, small and drab but in a lovely homespun way. She responds to his soft nicker, offering her muzzle in traditional greeting, whuffling once or twice to him. Her eyes are faintly edged in natural wariness, expecting a sudden gnashing of teeth towards her hip or the stallion’s snaking drive towards herd and home - something she has evaded long enough but is not entirely opposed to as she might have been in her strong-willed youth.
She observes his playful overtures for but a moment, unable to truly remember the last time she cavorted freely but supposed it would have occurred with her father and mother in the herdlands. Her lips curve into a shy but inviting smile and the spark of life blazes a little brighter in her; her step becomes prancing as she circles him, pushing at his shoulder in a bold playful nudge.
She is kind though; it shows in her eyes.
Except to the cowbird that perches further up her back, closer to her neck and out of the way of her gnashing teeth. Even the cowbird isn't minded so much, having become a constant in her life as much as traveling has. She cranes an ear back at the squawk of annoyance from her companion, then both ears tip forward at the sound of footsteps muffled and muddied by grass and snowmelt.
He is vividly marked; that much she can see immediately, bright chestnut mixed with a paint pattern - overo probably, though he stands out even in his large size whereas she does not, small and drab but in a lovely homespun way. She responds to his soft nicker, offering her muzzle in traditional greeting, whuffling once or twice to him. Her eyes are faintly edged in natural wariness, expecting a sudden gnashing of teeth towards her hip or the stallion’s snaking drive towards herd and home - something she has evaded long enough but is not entirely opposed to as she might have been in her strong-willed youth.
She observes his playful overtures for but a moment, unable to truly remember the last time she cavorted freely but supposed it would have occurred with her father and mother in the herdlands. Her lips curve into a shy but inviting smile and the spark of life blazes a little brighter in her; her step becomes prancing as she circles him, pushing at his shoulder in a bold playful nudge.