the blood that binds us [open] Jan 21, 2011 18:34:23 GMT -6
Post by DingoMutt on Jan 21, 2011 18:34:23 GMT -6
The stallion and colt moved in sync. The spindly yearling was just a few feet behind his sire, his relaxed brown eyes focused on the older male's movements. Lark copied every twitch and bend of his sire, enjoying the little game that they played. The colt was happy to have a playmate while his sister was sleeping, and the stallion was content to amuse his youngest child with something so easy as walking. Anarchy gave his long, luxurious tail a small flick to the left, then a large one to the right. Lark's short, curly tail did the same just a fraction of a second later. While Lark certainly showed off his friesian ancestry, he was nearly identical to his father save for the silvery blue eyes and more minimal markings. Both brutes were content to walk along the blood-colored lake's shore, enjoying the abnormally warm winter day that began to speak of spring.
"Papa?" said the colt.
"Yes, Birdie?" said the stallion.
"Where's momma?" asked the colt.
"I don't rightly know." replied the stallion.
"Okay. We should find her." suggested the colt.
"Alright. I'm sure she's resting with Adelaide." finished the stallion.
Anarchy and his family enjoyed a relaxed, quiet existence. He knew his herd was small, and he ached for the hustle and bustle that life had once been. At one time they'd been a great herd, the largest one around, but now they'd dwindled to just five horses. While that meant plenty of graze for those that remained in the Lake of Blood, it left a terribly large hole in the stud's heart. He longed for the mares he'd once loved so dearly, only for them to simply disappear into thin air. While he had seriously considered a trek to the Willow Tree to claim more mares, the thought came and went in his fine, Thoroughbred head. He flicked an ear at his son as they moved, having to search for the sound of smaller hoofbeats. The colt was a master of imitation, making the older horse smile.
Lark was a rather shy colt, often spooked by small things like birds or the wind. While Anarchy was concerned for his son, he was sure that the colt would be better off a little bit too sensitive, as opposed to being far too mild. As a yearling, Lark was rapidly growing into his long legs. He still maintained a generic yearling build, a little bit awkward, but his withers and rump were even and his legs were strong. He was turning into a handsome little brute, his hooves feathered and his mane and tail curly, his immature steps flashy. Lark was a dreamer, and his sire loved him for it. He was sometimes moved nearly to tears by sunsets and singing, and he was quite in tune with those around him.
Anarchy decided that a walk was much too slow, an ache to run settling into his limbs. He gave his head a quick toss, feeling frisky in the warm but cool air. His son picked up on the movement, imitating it and letting out a delighted squeal. Both equines picked up quick, lively trots; Anarchy's collected so his son could keep up, Lark's extended so he could stay side by side with his sire. Their trots shifted to rocking canters and then to swift gallops, their long strides eating up the ground. While Lark had inherited a heavier build from his dam, he was still leggy and swift. The colt tore away from the stallion, his ears pinned with fierce determination to outrun the older, faster, more finely bred horse that was his father.
Under normal circumstances, that would have been impossible. But, Anarchy was feeling generous today, so he slowed a bit as they rounded a corner of the lark, his gallop becoming a canter through the sand. He kept a close eye on his son, studying the colt's swift, reaching movements. He was proud of his boy, as he was proud of all his children. Wherever Zorro was now, the stallion was sure he was doing well, driven to compassion by his father's lack of sanity, driven to be aware and quick by a strict, aging wolfess. Adelaide was growing to be a fine young mare, something that scared her father to no end. She was the most precious thing in the world to him, a gem to be hoarded and protect. But he knew the longing gaze in her eyes, the desire to be free and wander the world and fall in love, fore it had once shone in his silvery eyes too.
It was his colt's laboured breath that dragged him from his thoughts; the stallion's ears perked, and a concerned nicker grew in his throat. Ahead of him, Lark's gait was slowing as he anxiously tossed his pretty head. Anarchy bolted forward to catch up, concern lacing his features. He wasn't sure what was happening; he'd never heard his son make that noise before, a sort of choking breathing, accented by high notes. When he pulled alongside the colt, already a towering fifteen hands, his concern was replaced with a delicate smile. The younger horse was breathing hard, laughing and smiling as he galloped along in the sand.
"I'm faster than you, Papa!" laughed the colt.
"Is that so, Birdie? Race me to the apple trees." challenged the stallion.
Both horses quickly changed their course, the sound of their thundering hooves echoing in the relative silence of the territory. It told them Hibiki was prowling for a meal, or hunting for something that looked to make a meal of him or his family. He knew not to worry, sure that the she-wolf would raise the alarm if there were any threats. The two horses sped along the grassy plains they lived in, leaping easily over randomly strewn rocks that lay hidden in the buffalo grass. Ahead sat a trio of apple trees, set in a perfectly straight line and with the exact same amount of space between them. While they wouldn't bear fruit for several months, father and son raced to touch their noses to the rough brown bark.
word count: one thousand fifty one
tag: Anarchy & Little Lark for anyone
notes: These two are such a pair. <3 No replies less than three hundred words, please.[/size]