06-23-2015, 09:54 PM
I know each of the residents of the Orange Country; it is my responsibility to. So when I see two unfamiliar figures between the trees of the orange grove, I am instantly alert. Though there are no natural predators to horses here, the possibility that a rogue stallion might attempt to steal away my family grows higher every day. I am not the only stallion with a herd anymore, it seems, but I have no intention of losing it.
I move toward the strangers quickly, unafraid and imposing. I have inherited both the height and heavy build of my Percheron father, and at eighteen hands high I have the advantage over most horses I come across. Rather than the midnight black hide of my sire, I posses my mother's spots, a smattering of chestnut on my otherwise pale coat. My impressive figure is complete with spiraling black rams horns, a benefit of my service to the Desert.
If these interlopers are here to cause trouble, I am willing to bet that once they see what they are dealing with they will turn tail and run.
But as I draw closer, weaving through the groves of citrus trees, I see that this is no pair of bachelor stallions. One is far smaller than the other - clearly a young foal - and the older horse is a mare, his mother. Pacified, I approach with a friendly smile, wondering what might have brought them to my herdland.
"Hello there," I say, stopping close enough to converse, but not so near as to threaten their safety. "I'm Kreios. What brings you to my herdland?" My tone is friendly and gentle, and my ears prick forward curiously as I wait for a response.
I move toward the strangers quickly, unafraid and imposing. I have inherited both the height and heavy build of my Percheron father, and at eighteen hands high I have the advantage over most horses I come across. Rather than the midnight black hide of my sire, I posses my mother's spots, a smattering of chestnut on my otherwise pale coat. My impressive figure is complete with spiraling black rams horns, a benefit of my service to the Desert.
If these interlopers are here to cause trouble, I am willing to bet that once they see what they are dealing with they will turn tail and run.
But as I draw closer, weaving through the groves of citrus trees, I see that this is no pair of bachelor stallions. One is far smaller than the other - clearly a young foal - and the older horse is a mare, his mother. Pacified, I approach with a friendly smile, wondering what might have brought them to my herdland.
"Hello there," I say, stopping close enough to converse, but not so near as to threaten their safety. "I'm Kreios. What brings you to my herdland?" My tone is friendly and gentle, and my ears prick forward curiously as I wait for a response.