Post by D o v e on Jul 13, 2006 13:48:53 GMT -5
Blue skies - with only wisps of fluffy white clouds dotting the horizon - lay overhead the wide expanse of lushous green grass that swayed in the gentle spring breeze. The clouds moved slowly over the vibrant meadow dotted with new growth and budding flowers. Little puddles lay everywhere in miniature systems of rivers and lakes, caused by the torrential downpours only a few days earlier...splash-squish-pop! The sounds of a horse making its way through the mud.
Bloody Masquerade hardly looked gray anymore; her coat was caked with dried mud as she had rolled earlier. She pulled her hooves up unnecesarily high out of the mud, just to show her immense disdain. Oh how she hated to get dirty! All this much and the disgusting sounds it made, ick! The ends of her beautiful tail dragging tragically across the top of the mud, her hooves sinking into the soft, squishy ground and she had to pull them out again against the suction, causing a soft "pop" to be heard with each step. Oh she couldn't have been more unhappy!
Mask stopped walking for a moment, swiftly reaching down and cropping short the new growth, and then she raised her fine skull again. Chewing her mouthful listlessly, her ears flitted around to catch every noise. Hmmm... where am I anyway? She exhaled in the way that a horse sounds like it's sneezing and twitched the skin on her shoulder to hopefully rid herself of a pest. When after the third time her skin quivered and the damn persistent bugger didn't take flight, Mask flicked her tail around hard and smacked her side with with the mud-caked ends of her long no-longer-white tail. Her nostrils flared out to expose the fleshy pink lining inside as she scented the the breeze in search of any information that would tell her where she was. Exhaling loudly she mused to herself aloud, "I smell them...but I do not see them." Ah yes, talking to herself yet again - actually it was quite normal for her as she was somewhat mentally and emotionally unstable. Of course the "them" that Mask was referring to were horses. She could catch a faint equine scent in the air, though the dampness made it hard to determine how long ago it was here. Strange that she had not crossed paths with another equine already, but it was probably just her luck.
With a sigh Bloody Masquerade extended her neck downwards to uproot more new shoots. As she was cropping the grass shorter and shorter, her mane slid forward along her neck to uncover a partially hidden brand on her neck...the tattoo was just a bunch of numbers but it was difficult to make out which numbers were there. The freeze branding was on the left side of her neck, the side which her mane did not naturally fall upon, but Mask's mane was long and rather wild and so it parted some to the right and some to the left, covering the strange numbers on her neck. It was her tattoo that marked her as one who had known the captivity of metal bars, the mark left upon her by humans, forever marring her beautiful neck. Yes, Bloody Masquerade was a Mustang by the fact that she was running wild with horses of mixed blood, but truly she is Arabian. You can see it in her fine boned structure and her elegant, slightly dished face, and in the way she moves and carries her lengthy tail. Her coat is more of a fleabitten gray and though her muzzle is mainly pink, it is also slightly black. Oh but her heritage is visible, it's truly her past that is a story worth hearing...of course no one has heard it, they're all a bit more worried about the fact that she's slightly insane.
So here she is, standing in a lush meadow, all alone...but would you dare approach her?
Bloody Masquerade hardly looked gray anymore; her coat was caked with dried mud as she had rolled earlier. She pulled her hooves up unnecesarily high out of the mud, just to show her immense disdain. Oh how she hated to get dirty! All this much and the disgusting sounds it made, ick! The ends of her beautiful tail dragging tragically across the top of the mud, her hooves sinking into the soft, squishy ground and she had to pull them out again against the suction, causing a soft "pop" to be heard with each step. Oh she couldn't have been more unhappy!
Mask stopped walking for a moment, swiftly reaching down and cropping short the new growth, and then she raised her fine skull again. Chewing her mouthful listlessly, her ears flitted around to catch every noise. Hmmm... where am I anyway? She exhaled in the way that a horse sounds like it's sneezing and twitched the skin on her shoulder to hopefully rid herself of a pest. When after the third time her skin quivered and the damn persistent bugger didn't take flight, Mask flicked her tail around hard and smacked her side with with the mud-caked ends of her long no-longer-white tail. Her nostrils flared out to expose the fleshy pink lining inside as she scented the the breeze in search of any information that would tell her where she was. Exhaling loudly she mused to herself aloud, "I smell them...but I do not see them." Ah yes, talking to herself yet again - actually it was quite normal for her as she was somewhat mentally and emotionally unstable. Of course the "them" that Mask was referring to were horses. She could catch a faint equine scent in the air, though the dampness made it hard to determine how long ago it was here. Strange that she had not crossed paths with another equine already, but it was probably just her luck.
With a sigh Bloody Masquerade extended her neck downwards to uproot more new shoots. As she was cropping the grass shorter and shorter, her mane slid forward along her neck to uncover a partially hidden brand on her neck...the tattoo was just a bunch of numbers but it was difficult to make out which numbers were there. The freeze branding was on the left side of her neck, the side which her mane did not naturally fall upon, but Mask's mane was long and rather wild and so it parted some to the right and some to the left, covering the strange numbers on her neck. It was her tattoo that marked her as one who had known the captivity of metal bars, the mark left upon her by humans, forever marring her beautiful neck. Yes, Bloody Masquerade was a Mustang by the fact that she was running wild with horses of mixed blood, but truly she is Arabian. You can see it in her fine boned structure and her elegant, slightly dished face, and in the way she moves and carries her lengthy tail. Her coat is more of a fleabitten gray and though her muzzle is mainly pink, it is also slightly black. Oh but her heritage is visible, it's truly her past that is a story worth hearing...of course no one has heard it, they're all a bit more worried about the fact that she's slightly insane.
So here she is, standing in a lush meadow, all alone...but would you dare approach her?
