Pale hooves gave off a rhythmic thud as the slender mare trotted down the small slope, creamy tail raised high in the air, audits pricked in interest. Ahead of her, lay a petite, lively stream, dappled by the shadows of the few weeping willows that made their resistance there. True to their name, the seemingly depressed trees draped over the stream, creating shade for the mare.
Smooth pebbles shifted underfoot as she reached the brook, the tips of her lightly feathered hocks dampening from the gushing liquid. Slender neck bent to lower her head to the stream, taking long, grateful gulps of the fresh water.
She was a lithe Dutch Warmblood mare, just over three and a half years old. So far, she had made it through half her third year without a stallion bothering her. She wasn't so sure it would stay that way, but either way, she was hopeful of what the future would bring. She was a deep black tobiano, the white seeming to take over her body. The Black bits of her base coat appeared around her left eye and ear, appearing again in a wide splotch upon her withers, and acting as socks on her two front feet. She had an odd patch of black on the back of her dock, expanding down her right haunch and joining a black stocking.
She was an abstract mare, mentally and physically. She played hard to get: defiant and determined to prove her point. But, at the same time, she protruded vulnerability and softness. Truth be told, she was soft inside, but barely let it show. She refused to be open, unless the horse she was opening up to was special to her. So far, there was no one that special.
Smooth pebbles shifted underfoot as she reached the brook, the tips of her lightly feathered hocks dampening from the gushing liquid. Slender neck bent to lower her head to the stream, taking long, grateful gulps of the fresh water.
She was a lithe Dutch Warmblood mare, just over three and a half years old. So far, she had made it through half her third year without a stallion bothering her. She wasn't so sure it would stay that way, but either way, she was hopeful of what the future would bring. She was a deep black tobiano, the white seeming to take over her body. The Black bits of her base coat appeared around her left eye and ear, appearing again in a wide splotch upon her withers, and acting as socks on her two front feet. She had an odd patch of black on the back of her dock, expanding down her right haunch and joining a black stocking.
She was an abstract mare, mentally and physically. She played hard to get: defiant and determined to prove her point. But, at the same time, she protruded vulnerability and softness. Truth be told, she was soft inside, but barely let it show. She refused to be open, unless the horse she was opening up to was special to her. So far, there was no one that special.