WindStorm Protector
Sept 15, 2008 22:25:04 GMT -5
Post by Dusty's Girl on Sept 15, 2008 22:25:04 GMT -5
Name: WindStorm
Breed: Kiger Mustang
Age: Around 8 years old
Height: 14 hh
Gender: Mare
Coloring: Silver Grulla
Markings: Black mane, tail, dorsal stripe, and leg barring.
Family Line: Unknown
I am as I will always be. Wild and free. But that is not how it always was. This silvered ring on my leg will prove my relationship to man. The scars in my mouth will prove his horrid bits do not work and the scars that reflect on my sides will prove that his spurs are not lethal. But I am what I am.
The night that I was born. It was a dark night, wild winds swept down the plains, threatening to tear me from the earth too soon. A wind storm, they called it. I called it terror in the sky. But my name soon became WindStorm to prove that I lived through it. My coloring was as dark as the night itself when I was born. But it lightened into a silver grulla. Oh how the men of the plains wanted me. To breed to their wicked stallions, to ride in the rodeos, and to show off to their friends. But I was what I was, wild and free.
At least until the day the lasso fell on my neck. I was yanked into submission, almost choked until I was lost in the blackness. My world collapsed and I was nothing but a slave. Then came the ring of silver on my right forehoof. It chained me to a wall. But chains were made to be broken. Many years I clamored with their torture of pain and ignorance. Spurs bloodied my sides and bits tore at my mouths. When their stallions came, they forcebred me beyond my nightmares. Few foals ever lived from my loins. I decided that the chain had to be broken.
Every night, I was chained in my stall next to the rank stallion. He loomed over me every night and I could not fight his advances much. As I pulled back, the rusted chain finally snapped. Why could the ring not be rusted as well? But I did not care. I ran, ran for all that I could run. I was nothing but a dark breeze that night as I stormed back to my freedom.
But my herd did not exist. Where was I to go now? Back to the torturous man? No, I had to keep going. Surely a herd would take even a tortured soul like myself in. I kept walking, I kept searching. I had to find somewhere to go, someplace that I belonged.
But nothing came to me and I came to nothing. Soon, I became a deranged lone mare, living in the thick woods. A protector of the woods, the wildlife told me. What little I did understand of them. And grumpy, I was. I was alone and lost in the woods, protecting nothing really. I had no foal at my side, no stallion to watch over me. The does in the woods would take pity on me and leave me their fawns to watch for a few times. Little playful things, they were. But they did not ease the grumpiness of my soul. I was doomed to be a protector of the woods, a protector to nothing and a lone mare.
Breed: Kiger Mustang
Age: Around 8 years old
Height: 14 hh
Gender: Mare
Coloring: Silver Grulla
Markings: Black mane, tail, dorsal stripe, and leg barring.
Family Line: Unknown
I am as I will always be. Wild and free. But that is not how it always was. This silvered ring on my leg will prove my relationship to man. The scars in my mouth will prove his horrid bits do not work and the scars that reflect on my sides will prove that his spurs are not lethal. But I am what I am.
The night that I was born. It was a dark night, wild winds swept down the plains, threatening to tear me from the earth too soon. A wind storm, they called it. I called it terror in the sky. But my name soon became WindStorm to prove that I lived through it. My coloring was as dark as the night itself when I was born. But it lightened into a silver grulla. Oh how the men of the plains wanted me. To breed to their wicked stallions, to ride in the rodeos, and to show off to their friends. But I was what I was, wild and free.
At least until the day the lasso fell on my neck. I was yanked into submission, almost choked until I was lost in the blackness. My world collapsed and I was nothing but a slave. Then came the ring of silver on my right forehoof. It chained me to a wall. But chains were made to be broken. Many years I clamored with their torture of pain and ignorance. Spurs bloodied my sides and bits tore at my mouths. When their stallions came, they forcebred me beyond my nightmares. Few foals ever lived from my loins. I decided that the chain had to be broken.
Every night, I was chained in my stall next to the rank stallion. He loomed over me every night and I could not fight his advances much. As I pulled back, the rusted chain finally snapped. Why could the ring not be rusted as well? But I did not care. I ran, ran for all that I could run. I was nothing but a dark breeze that night as I stormed back to my freedom.
But my herd did not exist. Where was I to go now? Back to the torturous man? No, I had to keep going. Surely a herd would take even a tortured soul like myself in. I kept walking, I kept searching. I had to find somewhere to go, someplace that I belonged.
But nothing came to me and I came to nothing. Soon, I became a deranged lone mare, living in the thick woods. A protector of the woods, the wildlife told me. What little I did understand of them. And grumpy, I was. I was alone and lost in the woods, protecting nothing really. I had no foal at my side, no stallion to watch over me. The does in the woods would take pity on me and leave me their fawns to watch for a few times. Little playful things, they were. But they did not ease the grumpiness of my soul. I was doomed to be a protector of the woods, a protector to nothing and a lone mare.
