12-31-2016, 07:36 PM
The land smelt of others. The scents on the breeze ranged, from fearful to delighted to downright terrified. Saragon lifted her nose to the air and drew in a deep breath. Stallions would be near, to her dismay. Here, she knew, claimings had happened. It was not something she desired for herself but something that would, nonetheless, most likely happen. A fem was nothing but a possession to the stallions, and it was in this that her fate was sealed.
She trotted along the land, her head swaying this way and that, ears pricked forward determined to catch scent, sight, or sound of the stallions before they approached her. She was antsy, uncertainty coiling in her stomach. Her mother had warned her of strange stallions and even as an adult she still was cautious around them. Stallions, her mother had always said, would force and take what they wanted without regard for the consequence. Stallions, her mother had said, did not care to take care of the children the bred nor did they care to exercise restraint when it came to a mare. Stallions, her mother had warned, were to be avoided.
But one could not survive the winter without a stallion, without a herd and so she had been driven to this place, this place where stallions found their mares and stole them away, to find that herd. Horses were herd animals and she was no fool. To stay safe, to hope to survive the winter, she needed to find a herd, a home.
She picked her way delicately through the grass of the fields. She drew nearer a group of horses and diverted her path as so to avoid them. Her stomach rolled with anxiety once more and she paused to graze. She could hardly eat, but to keep her strength up she knew she needed to.
Please let the stallions be kind.