48th of Summer, 511 AV It was quiet. As quiet as it ever became on a plane as vast as this one, where the wind roamed freely and played at will in the tall grasses. Waves of emerald and gold slowly rose and fell under the gentle touch, danced delightfully in the light of the swiftly rising sun; the dew had evaporated by now, but even so a freshness lingered in the air, promising yet another clear, warm day. Over the ground scurried fat birds with their downy chickens in tow, constantly on the lookout for predators; it was an anxious business to raise a family on the Sea of Grass, because there was no telling who might be hiding in the grass that sometimes grew to reach a grown human to his chest. Today was no difference; ever cautious, ever agile the little critters scurried about on their own business, chattering and chirping; aside from that, really, it was actually quiet. None of the native animals payed much attention to the single horse that slowly made her way over the plain, southbound but seemingly without a real destination. She had been lingering in the area for a while now, sometimes going this way, other times going that. She never harmed anyone or course, it wasn't in the nature of lonely mares to do so; no, the only concern the wild birds and rodents had was that she might attract attention from.. larger things. Dangerous things. But all was well so far, and until something actually showed up, they would ignore her presence best as they could and carry on with their own business. They were polite that way, never bothering the neighbors unless the neighbors bothered them. She didn't seem to care either way. She was small, didn't quite look like the large Striders that sometimes came thundering over the earthy ocean; her coat was gray and shimmering, or could have been at least. At this point it was hard to actually tell exactly what she looked like; the coat was dirty and ragged, pulled taught over trembling and exhausted muscles that had gone past their capacity a while a go. Whatever fat she might have had before looked as if it had been burned away and no longer cushioned ribs and hips; her gray whithers, decorated with black streaks down towards the shoulders, cut the air like a dull blade. The most striking thing perhaps, aside from the white mane that hung heavy with tousles and burdocks, was the eyes. Displaying a pale, almost golden hazel hue, they could have been fierce or commanding, glittering cheerful and overflowing with kindness. They were neither of those things. There was a chill within that gaze, as if whatever soul that inhabited the emaciated body had died or began to rot from the inside. She moved slowly, black-toned legs carrying her painfully forward, ever forward. It really didn't look like she had a goal; whenever she was faced with an obstacle the mare simply turned around and walked some other way, even if it meant that she ended up going back the way she came. She didn't seem to eat much; there was plenty of grass to have in this place, beneath the rougher strands hid soft, juicy roots that were filled with nutrition. Only deeply rooted instincts made her bow her delicate head and take a mouthful now and then, in the same way as it made her drink whenever she crossed a small stream or came across a borrow with naturally rising waters. It wasn't often though, not often enough. This horse was on the brink of dying, and it was nothing short of a miracle that she had survived this far. Only a miracle would suffice to save her life from here on. |