Post by hulachowdown on Nov 17, 2007 14:12:17 GMT -5
Freedom whispers
on the wind...
Lo! The wild horses
run!
(all of the poem bits are from Barbara Anne Dunn's poem On the wind.)
on the wind...
Lo! The wild horses
run!
Her muzzle nearly dragging on the hard turf she padded along. Her stiff legs almost dragging her daggers on the ground. Her ivory coat was almost a dull silver color. Her legs coated in thick mud. So this is what I get for giving him a son she thought lifting her muzzle slightly off the ground. Her tiara was paining her something terrible. Her frame was getting thinner by the day-month. She knew she should stop and rest but she didn't trust anyone or anyplace. She didn't even have time to wash the dried blood on her barrel. She knew she looked like a mess but didn't have to energy to worry about it.
Every turn she was sure that she would be tormented by an apposing horse for she had no kin now. For the first time in her 12 winters on this planet, she was herdless. She had been driven out by their herds silly new stallion, he had hardly been more then a colt really. His father had passed on and he had to carry the burden of their herds mares. Most of then had been bairly broken by his father and the few older ones that had always been loyal to their stallion and had born him sons and daughters every spring. Of course the colt-stallion, yes she had the gall to call him that in her thoughts, had taken the younger and feistier mares first and hardly looked at the older mares. When he had covered the younger ones he turned to the older ones and told them to shut their maws and do as told.
He treated them like silly slaves instead of treating them with the respect they had earned and always had. They were strong enough to put up enough of a fight when they had enough. Finally with one big rumble, he had driven out the older mares , not before covering then all and forcing them to live with him for the time till they birthed and hardly letting then rest even when they where 8 months into their pregnancies, it seemed like he was set on killing them all because they were not the fiery and young beauties they had once been.
So this is what an old mare gets from her herd she thought as she huffed along picking her path carefully on the rocky hard terrain. With a stumble , her tired and strained limbs gave way leaving her an easy prey for the night herders and the night dogs. Looking up at the havens she hoped whole-heartedly that one decent stallion would have the curtsy to help her but she knew that it would never happen.
Every turn she was sure that she would be tormented by an apposing horse for she had no kin now. For the first time in her 12 winters on this planet, she was herdless. She had been driven out by their herds silly new stallion, he had hardly been more then a colt really. His father had passed on and he had to carry the burden of their herds mares. Most of then had been bairly broken by his father and the few older ones that had always been loyal to their stallion and had born him sons and daughters every spring. Of course the colt-stallion, yes she had the gall to call him that in her thoughts, had taken the younger and feistier mares first and hardly looked at the older mares. When he had covered the younger ones he turned to the older ones and told them to shut their maws and do as told.
He treated them like silly slaves instead of treating them with the respect they had earned and always had. They were strong enough to put up enough of a fight when they had enough. Finally with one big rumble, he had driven out the older mares , not before covering then all and forcing them to live with him for the time till they birthed and hardly letting then rest even when they where 8 months into their pregnancies, it seemed like he was set on killing them all because they were not the fiery and young beauties they had once been.
So this is what an old mare gets from her herd she thought as she huffed along picking her path carefully on the rocky hard terrain. With a stumble , her tired and strained limbs gave way leaving her an easy prey for the night herders and the night dogs. Looking up at the havens she hoped whole-heartedly that one decent stallion would have the curtsy to help her but she knew that it would never happen.
(all of the poem bits are from Barbara Anne Dunn's poem On the wind.)
