Romantica
Maybe this is the best way.
Romantica had spent her time in the meadow, the forest, the river. She had gladly drank up the wild freedom a nomadic life had promised. She ran free and happy, wild as the winds and twice as fierce. No man nor creature could tame the beast that lay in her belly as she chased the run and made love to the moon with large green eyes and sweet words.
But now the howl of the wolf does not soothe her soul nor the moan of the meadowlark. Romy makes her through the brambles and snags that threaten the dappled edges of her pale coat. The woman picks her way through beaten paths and down branches till she stands on the edges of the open land, the small clumps of horses huddled together in conversations that did not reach her ears.
She draws a breath and exhales loudly as she attempts to steady herself for this next chapter. The gray woman with steely hair stands only a moment longer before she finds herself moving towards the bands of other equines, watching with bright emerald eyes and a soft smile moving over her lips.