Post by Vantha {in college} on Jun 30, 2009 22:59:09 GMT -8
Dark storm grey arabian moved along at a walk. The moon glinted dully off his dark pelt almost making him seem black and his oddly colored muzzle almost seemed strangely white. So white it almost seemed as if a skull was floating.
Dial was tossed high, almost bathing in the moon's light. How he loathed the cursed fiery orb that haunted him.
You might be wondering what in the world a male horse is doing in freedom's perch in the middle of the night and why he's not off claiming a land and mares. The answer is simple, the stormy arabian was a gelding.
Yes, a gelding. He could mate yes, but he had no urge to do so and no foal would come from it. He was mocked and ridiculed for that alone. People ran from him once they found out why he only showed himself at night. And when they found out about his little past-time of talking with skeletons and other dead things.
Tonight was not a night for idle chit-chat for the gelding. He was roaming, trying to find a place to settle down where he could be left alone. Solitude had become a friend to him since no horse accepted him, only the bones he talked to did, and even then not all liked him.
The grey drifted to a stop a sigh heaving his barrel. Once, just once, he wanted to be accepted by another equine. One hoof stamped the ground in anger. No, even the most open-minded horse shunned him. He was too different. No mare wanted him because they wanted foals and no stallion trusted him thinking that he was lying to try and steal his mares.
He hated being different. He wanted to be normal. Yet at the same time he wouldn't change anything for the world, perhaps because he was at peace with himself even if everyone else hated him. He was himself.
Who was he? He was Necromancer, the gelding arabian
Dial was tossed high, almost bathing in the moon's light. How he loathed the cursed fiery orb that haunted him.
You might be wondering what in the world a male horse is doing in freedom's perch in the middle of the night and why he's not off claiming a land and mares. The answer is simple, the stormy arabian was a gelding.
Yes, a gelding. He could mate yes, but he had no urge to do so and no foal would come from it. He was mocked and ridiculed for that alone. People ran from him once they found out why he only showed himself at night. And when they found out about his little past-time of talking with skeletons and other dead things.
Tonight was not a night for idle chit-chat for the gelding. He was roaming, trying to find a place to settle down where he could be left alone. Solitude had become a friend to him since no horse accepted him, only the bones he talked to did, and even then not all liked him.
The grey drifted to a stop a sigh heaving his barrel. Once, just once, he wanted to be accepted by another equine. One hoof stamped the ground in anger. No, even the most open-minded horse shunned him. He was too different. No mare wanted him because they wanted foals and no stallion trusted him thinking that he was lying to try and steal his mares.
He hated being different. He wanted to be normal. Yet at the same time he wouldn't change anything for the world, perhaps because he was at peace with himself even if everyone else hated him. He was himself.
Who was he? He was Necromancer, the gelding arabian