- the stones bleed for me.

[andre]

NAME: hadrian.
AGE: five.
BREED: commonly known as a mongrel; a horse of mixed descent.
GENDER: male, also known as a stallion.
HERITAGE: tynan (sire, name means ‘dark’ – deceased; warlander) & alte (dam, name means ‘altar’ – deceased; thoroughbred).
HEIGHT: off the record, we have no idea.
OFFSPRING: none.
NATIONALITY: half russian, half english. he has no accent to account of, however.

spin me a story of centuries ago.

Hadrian is what Hadrian does, as the saying goes, but without the special mention of our favourite horse’s name. He is not necessarily big in heart when you compare it to the whole big in size and quite possibly stature thing that he’s got going on; but nonetheless, he is an amicable sort of chap when you stay on his good side. It’s not hard to do, considering he’s sociable when it comes to socializing and situations like that, possibly even annoyingly-so.

If you asked him to tell you a story that contained war, tragedy and romance; the kind of stuff you’d find in a soppy novelist’s first book, he could deliver it to you within the blink of an eye. An extravagant liar when he needs to be, his tongue could draw up the images of a thousand worlds if it were a pen or a pencil. Give him a mare and he’s off for the day wooing her and charming her with what flair he believes he’s got, which is second-to-none, I’m afraid. Such truths are hard to break to someone, especially a reader.

He is a chatty creature by nature, naturally rambunctious and simply full of energy that – according to him – has no ends. A calm horse by trade, his father’s solemn streak and his mother’s slightly insane tendencies didn’t appear to rub off on him as he matured and steadily grew older. The only ‘odd’ thing about him is his whole ‘I talk to myself’ trait and his mild case of insomnia – but then again, every horse has its flaws, no?

Hadrian is a catastrophe waiting to happen. If he’s not tripping over his own four legs, he’s tripping over something else or someone else. A bout of cheekiness and ‘lip’ often strikes him when he feels intimidated, but aside from that, he’s collected and dignified. It would appear that he is a walking fan of prim and proper society, if it were not for his clumsiness and his apparent lack of elegance and coordination.

of combat and soldiers that were proud to fight.

If you compared him to that of a Shire, I suppose he would not be as chunky or as tall as one. A mongrel simply wasn’t built to compete with a work horse – after all, his lineage does descend from dressage horses and racing horses, no matter if they’re tamed or not.

He is of simple colouration; a stone grey in colour. Both sleek and lean, Hadrian has ‘the athlete’s body’ which could be explained if you looked at his mother with keen eyes and the knowledge of a true racer at heart. He is not too muscled, nor too skinny and ‘shrimpy’ but he is comfortably in-between the two; certainly not lacking in the strength department, although it isn’t his best area.

Unfortunately for our horse, his father’s elegance and movement skills didn’t rub off on him, and he has numerous scars of the small kind on his knees from countless clumsy movements which have resulted in him falling over. Not the most synchronized of all horses, he makes up for it with his stamina.

Gazing out from under a dusty concrete-coloured forelock, he ‘observes the world’ through watery blue eyes that reflect a weak hue of what the sky once was. Although cerulean in colour; the heavens were much grander, and he likes to boast that the grand colour of the blue yonder is mirrored within his irises.

and a day when many-a-man was slain.

He was slowly suffocating, that he was sure of.

The water around him frothed and foamed as the current grew stronger with every passing second. It wove itself around the rocks that jutted out from the river, uprooting weak plants that could no longer fight against it and carrying them – as well as other things – down the watercourse and away from their original beginnings and original starts to life.

His head was barely above the surface; nostrils widening as he gasped for air, his legs kicking out against the ruthless current that threatened to engulf him. As each splash of water flung itself towards him, it grew colder, like a slap in the face with an icy tea-towel or a freezing piece of clothing. For a moment, his whole head was clear of the murky depths of the river, before a strong yank from the water pulled him back under.

It was painful and it was most certainly chaotic. The light was dim and faded, barely making it through the filthy liquid that had slowly – over thousands of years – sprung up from the ground and formed one of the many rivers in the area. Unfortunately for him, he’d been clumsy enough to fall in whilst taking a quiet drink to soothe his thirst and ache for hydration in the blasted heat. If only he was more… elegant in the co-ordination area of things.

For the first time in his life, he felt fear as he struggled in vain to reach the surface. The air in his lungs was being drained and he felt body begin to scream and beg for more oxygen. Instinctively, the horse began to thrash about, slamming his head upwards and inhaling a few gulps of air through his nose and his slightly-parted mouth before he was forced back under again, still kicking and fighting valiantly.

As the river rushed with renowned vigour, it carried him along like he was simple cargo. Scraping him against many-a-rock and placing more cuts and bruises on his concrete-hued coat, he bore the atrocious agony with a face that was intent on only one thing: getting out. Hope was failing and the river continued to bash him about, even if that wasn’t its intentions for him. With his head finally above the water for a few more seconds, Hadrian spotted the banks.

He wasn’t that far out, he estimated, forcing his legs into action that contained more energy than before. With something to actually reach – a physical goal, the impossible seemed achievable as the current died down when the river reached a place where the water supply was rather low. Not low enough to stand up or gain utter control, mind you, but low enough for the horse to reach the banks.

Within seconds, he had freed himself from the water’s merciless depths and was climbing up the muddy rise, panting and gasping. His gangly legs crossed over each other a few times and he stumbled with the odd step – but he was free. Shock overloaded his system and at the top of the low slope, he collapsed, shaking and shuddering as the cold dominated his system.

Time had no place in the water, it had no place when fear was involved and survival came into play, so Hadrian had no idea how long he’d been within the river’s grasp. As night descended and the first sky-spirits appeared in the dusky skies, he turned his pallid eyes upwards to watch them, the shock escaping his system slowly and surely.

“You were lucky to survive.”

The voice was hoarse and old, secrets and wisdom of nights untold stored into the tones of the words. He heard them, jerking his head up and clambering to all fours within a matter of seconds, faltering once or twice, and with bright eyes, he surveyed his surroundings, expecting to see a fellow horse somewhere in sight.

There was no-one, and for a split second, Hadrian’s excitement deflated. He completed a full circle, gazing wistfully about him in the hopes that company would come along. He sighed in a rejected manner, staring at the gushing river with his features void of emotion.

“You know, I was hoping for some company, too.” His voice; normally chirpy and optimistic, was drained, lacking the energy he normally displayed. “I guess I was imagining things.”

Something – a branch or a twig – snapped within the depths of the undergrowth that flanked the banks of the river on both sides. Hadrian wheeled around, his almost-dry pelt shedding its last few droplets of water and he tried not to look too hopeful. Emerging from the foliage, a horse appeared; small in size and with an apparently-dark-coloured coat, or so the night made it appear.

“If you want company, here I am.” The creature stepped closer and Hadrian lowered his neck towards the other equine, his eyes bright and alive with curiosity. Never had he seen such a small horse; it must have been fourteen hands high or perhaps less. “I’m Ahern.”

“Hadrian,” the mongrel-horse offered his name, an expression akin to happiness forming on his face. He snorted lightly, shaking his head in order to show how glad he was to have company; his mind rolling over the name and storing it into his memory. “How did you—”

“Sleep,” the smaller horse stated flatly, his eyes twinkling with amusement that was plain to the eye. “You must recover. We shall exchange tales like friends. In the morning, I’m making waffles! ¹”

He was slightly taken-aback, shrugging it off with a nod of his head. Submissive when it came to such matters, Hadrian’s murmur of ‘good night’ fell on deaf ears as he settled down on the half-dry grass, his eyelids closing and a loud sigh erupting from him as he exhaled peacefully. With the ordeal over, he was happy. Company was always a good thing.

notes. ¹ was my attempt at humour. I failed miserably, I know. D: By the by, Kin recommended this site to me. :3

[/color][/blockquote]

[Meg]

<sub>OMG. I love you. You are totally going to have to role play with me. No joke.
-drool- I am totally going to hug Kinneh for bringing you here!

Of course you are freakin' accepted! Oh, and the humour thing, very nice. You didn't fail at all. We all are trying to make little side jokes with our horse characters, feel free to do that too.</sub>

[andre]

Yaaaay.

I feel very welcome. And as for the whole role play thing, I'd be perfectly happy to. I can't do it today, though, since I'm juuuuust off to bed, but, y'know. Thanks. ♥

Maybe tomorrow?

[/size]

[Kindred Blue]

See Barb, told you that you are the coolest (:

[Meg]

_{Lol Kinneh.
Yeah...sure..tomarrow. Off to bed? Jeez...it is only 2:20pm here.}

[Crow'sia]

They are overseas probably.

That was like a novel man. Wow.

[Kindred Blue]

Yesyes, Dre and I are in the UK. :3