Various Writing - Do Not Post

[Obsessed]

Writing - I think that sums it up. I will store original work by me here.

[Obsessed]

Weekly Theme: Show or tell us about your tolter's favorite toy!

Points:

I love the big red ball
It waits in my field for me
So when I hear the call
I go to the gate to see
My very own human
Waiting there for me
Prancing I realize I can
Go out finally
And chase the roll-y red
That tries to run away
Until I go to bed
I try to make it stay
I hold it with my hooves
And feel it with my face
To feel all the grooves
And run at my own pace
I run and run all day
Except for when I don’t
But my favorite thing to play
Is my ball, except when it won’t
Sometimes it looks less round
And doesn’t roll around
And just sits there on the ground
I try to get it to play
But it just stays
And then it seems all better
And my human yells
‘Go get ‘er!’

[Obsessed]

Weekly Theme: Show or tell us about your tolter's favorite toy!

Points:

Word Count: 356

Piper was tired. It had been a long day with too much time in the trailer and in the ring and around too many people. When he was tired he was irritable, which led to him being stressed, which led to none of the hands being able to convince him to do anything else that day.
So Piper stood in his stable, finally free of the tack that was so irksome, resting. Showing was hard; Piper liked work, and he liked challenge, but he did not like showing. He did show jumping and dressage. He’d much rather be with his human, bareback in the fields watching over the strange herd of cows that didn’t seem to understand him and didn’t seem to know how to take care of themselves.
The soft sound of his name being called reached his ears, and he twitched one. He had already been dozing and wasn’t too keen on being woken up. His name was called again, and he lifted his head, walking over to look out of his stall. His human was walking into the barn, stopping in the room that smelled of food and oil and leather, and coming back out with his halter.
Piper straightened from head to tail, lifting his head higher as his human came closer. She slipped the halter over his ears, fastening the buckle and clipping on the lead. Piper followed with a spring in his step, shivering with excitement as they got closer to his pasture. His human opened the gate, leading him inside and slipping the halter off. He dance forward, nodding to her in the same way he saw other humans nodding to each other, prancing forward a few steps and then sprinting.
Because, at the other end of the field, the shiny surface of his favorite toy beckoned. He charged the ball, skidding to a stop and rearing at it. He nosed it forward, pranced circles around its round surface and then set to weaving around it as he kicked it forward. He didn’t understand why it needed his help to move, but he suspected it wasn’t quite alive, either.

[Obsessed]

Username: Obsessed
Show Name (optional): One Can Dream
Name: Dreamer
Gender: Mare
Colour: Blood Bay (Ee/AA)
Age: 3
Height: 13.7 Hands
Sad Story:

Dreamer was a racehorse, starting when she was two. She loved the track, loved to run, and loved to win. However, she also loved to jump. She would have been more suited to another sport, but her owner was determined that she would make a good racer. And Dreamer really didn’t care. The races were with weighted saddles, not riders, and she ran until she reached the finish.
She was very close with her trainer, and she preferred to run with him than she did without and that became her downfall. It happened on a sunny afternoon, a day after a heavy rainfall. The event really should have been rescheduled, but it wasn’t. Dreamer could still smell moisture in the air as she stood in her box, even though the track was dry.
It happened because of an innocent enough cause. A stray dog had wriggled in undetected and stood snuffling on the track. The gates opened and Dreamer shot out. But dogs were something out of her area of expertise. When she saw him, she leaped the fence that made up the track and sprinted across the grass. The rain the other day has loosened the grass, soaked the soil, and sunk holes from the gophers.
Dreamer’s leg sunk into a hidden one, and she fell forward with a crack, screaming and kicking out. Her trainer ran to her first, slipping and tripping, and she was to panicked to recognize him, mind fogged from pain. She kicked out, met resistance, and met nothing. As more people flooded to her, she didn’t see her trainer again. She never saw him again.
Her racing life was over, and she was auctioned off. She will never race again because of the fracture, though she’s lucky she was not lamed. In the weeks following her accident she was listless and depressed, calling for her trainer and getting no response. She remembered kicking him, and shuddered. Her leg healed slowly, and it was impossible to tell if she would ever run again. She certainly wouldn’t race.

[Obsessed]

Stop.
Listen.
Are you sleeping?
You better not be.
The stallion’s watching you. He’s been, for a long time. How long?
You don’t know.
He steps out. He has a heart on his face, and it makes him look softer.
In fact, everything looks softer. Was it like that before?
Maybe.
The stallion’s walking closer. His eyes are very bright, very sharp, against his soft face. His head is low, close to yours. Are you sitting? Quick check: yes, yes you are. There is grass beneath you, but you can’t feel it. It smells sweet, though.
Why does it smell, if this is a dream? Is it not?
Why does it have no texture, if this is real? Is it not?
Wait. Look. The stallion is in front of you. He breathes out softly, face in front of yours. His breath is warm. Your face is cold. His eyes, now that he is right in front of you, are very warm. They seem sad. He nudges you, and you don’t feel it.
Are you awake? You doubt it, now.
The stallion rears, dangerously close, and your heart rate spikes. Dream? You’re still confident it is. Even if you’re afraid.
You try and make the stallion go away. He doesn’t. His hooves reach the ground in front of you, and the force of it seems to shake the earth. You remember you have fingers, toes, legs. The grass is whispery against your cheek.
When did you lie down?
Were you ever not?
The sky above is gray-black. No stars, no clouds, no moon. Just inky endless black.
A face appears in front of you. It seems softer still, the heart a blur. You want to reach for it.
You don’t.
You’ve had this dream, you think, but the details are so very hard to remember. Maybe you’ll just lie here, until you wake up. You think you see purple at one end of the sky. You’re not sure.
The stallion paws near your ear.
Insistent.
Firm nose against your shoulder, pushing.
You are sitting again. Well done.
Oops.
I’ve told you too much.
Or maybe not enough.
I’ve led you this far.
You are looking at the stallion. He is looking at you. Was there always a heart on his nose? You seem to recall so. He is still pushing, but you can’t stand.
If it is a dream, why can’t you stand?
If it is not, why is there a stallion?
You feel more, though. A breeze. The grass. The course hair of the stallion’s nose, and the velvet against your neck. You also feel pain. No more. You’re done. You sit again.
I say wake up, now, while you can feel.
-----
You wake up to bright lights. "You almost died, you know. That car crash could’ve been fatal. There was a horse in the trailer of the other driver. He almost died too. Do you like horses?"

[Obsessed]

1618 Words

Piper knew wide-open spaces and other horses better than he knew barns and human things. Being led out by his human (female, he had finally figured out, and wasn’t it strange for a human mare to lead?) towards the small shiny box did not inspire feelings of confidence. He let her upon his back, was lead and ran and played and groomed and put into a stable, but all he remembered from this box was the nausea and fear as the ground swayed beneath him.
He stopped and dug his heels in, so to speak. His human looked back at him, murmuring things along with his name, trying to convince him to move forward. Piper lowered his head and refused to move until the lead slackened. And when it did, he moved backwards, towards the safety of the barn and field.
The line tightened, and Piper stilled on reflex. Never, ever, ever had he fought his human, because his human never fought him. He could smell the treat in her hand, hear the soft words of comfort that made no sense, but he did not move forward. The line slackened, and she walked him back to his field. Piper watched the shiny box, and the sun made it seem to wink at him.
Snorting, he moved away, so he did not have to see it.
But the next day he was brought near again, not so much towards it as around it. Piper noticed, a wary eye in case it should try and swallow him. He wanted to run, with his human on his back, back she did not climb atop him until after they had passed the box.
Piper didn’t like it. He ran, but with a troubled spirit. His human was relaxed, but tensed as they returned to the barns, dismounting far out and skirting the box with him. Each day they did this. Each day Piper wondered why? He followed her, more confused than anything, and was surprised when she paused, giving him a treat and stroking his nose.
And then Piper realized it. He was standing so close to the box, his flank nearly brushed against its sides. He felt a tremble race up his legs, and side-stepped away from it. His human moved with him, her scent calm, words soft as she led him back to the field. Piper, for his part, felt betrayed.
He worked unwillingly over the next few days; back and forth pass the box, which he came to recognize as the ‘trailer’. Part of this work was rather unusual for him. His human, instead of long rides and keeping the strange cows in place, has begun to take him to a big pasture that had dirt instead of grass, to ride him there.
Sometimes he had to jump over things, and he couldn’t understand why. Sometimes she rode him, and they did several things in a certain speed and direction. It was all very confusing, and each day led him closer to the trailer. Most days he was too tired and content to notice. Others, she led him further away as he became nervous.
In time, he saw that it was not going to attack him. As he had to walk past it every day, and Piper thought himself to be intelligent, he could smell no life from it, it never moved, and did nothing when he walked by. So he became less skittish, more ready to work with his human in trying to master the complicated new things she was teaching him.
One morning, after he was saddled and led out, he was brought towards the trailer. Not around it, or simply near it, but actively towards it. Piper snorted, stamping anxiously. The back was open, and he remembered, first, being separated from his band and herded into one of these, and next, wrestled inside when first coming here. He had liked neither experience.
Just as he was about to go stiff, they turned around and simply walked back, riding in the same pen as always, as he learned to do this strange new form of being ridden. The next day, she tied his lead of his halter to the fence the trailer had moved next to (he knew it!) and she groomed him.
They didn’t ride that day, or the next, as she just brushed him, pet him, saddled and unsaddled him near the much hated and feared trailer. It smelled, he noted, more and more like his stall, which simultaneously unnerved and calmed him. But he didn’t really have to go in, did he?
He certainly wasn’t forced to. Day after day of being near the open trailer was slowly desensitizing him. It seemed less scary, and he felt bold enough one morning to sniff at it, pawing the ground, before backing up. It smelled musty and warm and more like him than like other horses and metal.
His human walked in and out of the trailer whenever he was around now. Her scent and his and the smell of treats came from the metal box now. Piper didn’t notice it so much now. Now, he worried less about the trailer and more about the complicated training. Every time he thought he had mastered it, his human introduced something new to learn.
So it came as a surprise to him when, instead of simply tacking him up at the trailer, she continued to walk in, calling his name. He hesitated, ears rotating to lie flat against his skull. Lifting his nose as high as possible, he slowly raised one hoof, and set it down on the ramp. Slowly, slowly, one hoof after another, Piper walked up, following his human and her soft encouragement, until he stood in the trailer.
For several long moments he was petted and rewarded, and then she simply turned him around, and they walked out. Each day now included entering the trailer. In fact, some days that was all they did. Each time he was in a little while longer, eyes wide open as he watched the back.
It didn’t close, and that was really all he cared about. His human stopped coming in with him, instead standing outside the trailer and giving him the ‘walk’ command that she used in the big round pen. He shook his head, looking at her, then the trailer, and then her again. She said it firmly again, and he moved forward, stopping at the top of the ramp. He could feel the sweat coating his withers and shook his head again.
A light tug encouraged him to back up, and they went to that round pen, where he walked around and around until the sweat had dried and his heart had calmed. Then they went back, and again he was given the command to walk. Back and forth, from lunging to loading and lunging and back to loading, every day, until three days later Piper walked in.
From there it became easier. He didn’t bolt and was not trapped. Over the course of the next week or so, he was put in and out for longer periods of time. Sometimes, as he grew calmer, the door was shut, but never for very long. Like everything else in this new experience, it was slow and careful.
The treats and soft stroking made it easier to bear. It even became enjoyable, as Piper became more used to this. The time the door was shut became longer, and sometimes the strange thing attached to it would make noise, as when he had been loaded the other two times. Those days were days they didn’t do anything else. Other days, when his human opened the trailer, they went and did the riding that he was beginning to feel confident about.
It was taking time, but he was feeling better about going into the trailer. On bad days, he was a ball of nervous sweaty energy. On good days, he walked in with no problem. One of his good days started with a treat. Then the door closed (which, really, he expected by now) and the ‘car’ started.
What was different about this day was that the trailer began moving. Slow moving, and Piper locked his legs, dropping his head. At first he was tempted to try and kick his way out. But he stayed still, trying to get more comfortable as the truck pulled the trailer – and by extension him – around.
Each subsequent ride was easier, and Piper found himself getting used to it. Not enjoying it, but becoming more comfortable with how it all worked. He dared one day to lift his head, and when the queasy feeling passed, look out the window that was just his size.
Things were moving by very fast, faster than he could probably gallop. He didn’t know it yet, but he was on a highway. Later he would understand all about roads and rides and what different preparations meant. Not right now though as he looked down at his hooves again.
When they came back he was rewarded, and as these rides in the trailer became more frequent, she would ride him when they returned. It occurred to Piper one afternoon, doing what he would find out later was Dressage, that he wasn’t afraid of the trailer anymore. It was a little bit of a shock, causing him to miss a step and restarting what they had been practicing, but it made him proud, too.
Proud that he wasn’t afraid of the silly metal box anymore. But then he had more important things to think about, like how to get the treats he just knew his human had and wasn’t giving him.

[Obsessed]

Piper’s favorite summer activity is going to the beach. It all began about a year after his human had got him, mid-August and hot like no one could believe. Humidity was terrible, heat was terrible, UV was terrible, and yet Piper was tacked up for a dressage competition three hours from home and miserable. Not to mention the various mares at the competition grounds he couldn’t go meet because he was supposed to be competing.
There were few equines that day who wanted to be there, and less who actually performed well. The judge had called it the most sluggish competition he had ever seen. The humans were not exempt either from the blistering heat their horse’s struggled through in full-on riding gear that seemed to trap every particle of hot air.
Piper took third that day and couldn’t care less, as he only wanted to be out of the dreadful heat, and yet dreaded the ride home because it would be hot or it would be loud – there was no in between. His human didn’t load him, but removed his tack, slipped on the familiar soft halter and lead, and they walked. There were horses everywhere, and they weaved through row after row of all different sorts of trailers.
From there it cleared out into more grass, with fewer horses and trailers. They approached the tree-line, the shade cooling and the small path they worked their way down smooth. It was steep and they moved slowly, but it became sandier, like the arena he had just come from, and Piper snorted once in fear that he would have to compete in the heat again.
There was a dull noise reaching his ears, and the smell of salt and water was more apparent to him than it had been at the trailer, with overwhelming horse, sweat, and human smells clogging his nose. The sand had replaced the packed earth, and Piper was already feeling more refreshed, despite the muggy air and oppressive heat.
It was a little better beneath the trees and unsaddled. The trees which were now clearing, Piper saw. The water and salt smell was stronger, and they came around a curve in the path to face the largest body of water Piper had ever seen. His human called it the ocean, in her not-show clothes, and stroked his side. Piper watched the crashing waves anxiously at first, but it smelled cold and Piper wanted to be cooler than he was.
Before he could try and see if he could convince his human to take them there, she began walking, then running, towards the water. He trotted at her side, head up and ears alert as her feet and his hooves hit the water. The spray hit his face and splattered his coat, and he whinnied his delight for the world to hear, a wild rear breaking his usually calm manners. His human mounted him bareback, and it took littles to encourage him to make a mad dash down the edge of the water, dipping in and out, sometimes swimming, sometimes not.
They stayed for an hour, cooling off in the strange water, before other humans and horses began coming, and his own human led him back up the steep trail. He dried off beneath the sun, feeling better and refreshed and tired, and slept the whole way back. Since then Piper has loved the beach.
Every opportunity to go the beach is welcomed by him. After long hours spent swimming and splashing, he come back to shore and flops on his side to rest and dry out before he has to leave, a habit ingrained from his first few beach visits. When his human brings his ball to play with on the sand, he is even more ecstatic about the trip.
Normally, every summer he and his girl go on vacation after a string of shows, to a stable by the ocean where Piper can spend his ‘summer vacation’ playing in the water and on the beach and riding with his human through the trails that wind through the woods behind the stables. It is his favorite part of summer, even though they only stay a week or two, and he can tell when they are about to go and gets very excited.

[Obsessed]

Various short stories centered around my Stallion Band A.

'The Boys'
Word Count: 648
Piper had been living alone on the ranch (well, not alone, because cows and dogs and the fox) for a long time. Longer than he thought he would’ve could’ve should’ve spent without some more equine company. There were other horses coming in, but he was still very alone, not allowed to be with these newcomers. One, a stallion, tried to bite him. Piper knew about biting. Before his taming, he had fought with his fair share of rivals. He didn’t appreciate this gesture, lower lip sinking out in a pout his human found amusing.
There were quite a few mares, he could see and hear and smell, and even a foal. Much of the woodland that had been cleared the previous summer was now pasture, and a new big barn stood, where these new horses were. Piper paced his own stall with the tractor and the cows. With real live horses within sight and smell every day, their company just wasn’t as satisfying. Not even Angel the dog was enticing, even when she dropped into a play bow that hid her aging hips and invited him for a game.
The strange horses, or at least a few of them, were out and Piper was stuck in a small side field, feeling petulant and angry and sulky and pouty and any other word along those lines he could think of. His human passed him only once, without even stopping for a treat or nose rubs. Piper snorted, scraping the ground in front of him. No, he didn’t like these new horses.
Which was why, when his girl came up with one of them, he swung around to show his hindquarters instead. His curiosity and newly regained since his capture loneliness won out though, and he turned his head to see the tolter who was slightly older than him. He had a dizzying amount of spots, and it took Piper a long moment to stop feeling seasick looking at him.
The stallion looked alert, curious, interested, and was the first to speak, an ear-shattering “Hello!” That made Piper’s ears flatten to his skull and stare sullenly at the ground instead. As it turned out, he would be getting to know this stallion quite well, for over the next few weeks he was worked in close proximity to him, on trail rides and in pasture.
Vincent came to represent change to Piper. It was after a brief annoyed meeting with him that Piper was moved to the new stables with all the other tolters, sandwiched in between Vincent and another stallion named Morpheus (“Call me Morph” was the longest thing Piper heard from him in a period of three months). It annoyed Piper to no end that he was both younger and shorter than the other two stallions, and he worked out a lot of his rage on humans and the stall.
Which led to them trying even harder, of course.
Piper found himself one afternoon in a pasture separate from the mares and the bite-y tolter who he had learned was called Reaper. And with him were Vince and Morph. They stayed separate at first. Morph bonded more easily to Vincent, who did all the talking, and Piper became leader without a fight. They tolerated his anxious herding, began grazing together without anything spoken.
If truth was to be told Piper didn’t even realize it was happening. One day he was keeping to his own side of the field, glaring at the two stallions that grazed side-by-side, and the next he was with them. They ate together, moved together, ran together, were almost inseparable. If Piper drank from a stream, Vincent and Morpheus did too. If Vince jumped the fence, so did the other two. Piper found himself not lonely, as he had been and not realized.
They formed together the first band of stallions on Riverton Run, perfectly content.

'Summertime'
Word Count: 460
Summer was a lazy slow moving thing, and Piper was sleepy, flicking flies off and grazing slowly. It was dry, and hot, and the sky was cloudless. And, of course, Vincent was full of energy, mouthing Piper’s ears nervously as he spoke of a show he was going to that he heard this mare was going to as well that he knew when he was two and what did he say? Because she had quite thoroughly trounced him the last time they had been together and look here look here he still had the scar to prove it.
Piper snorted, exchanged a look with Morph and pushed the now fretting Vince away. It would be fine, he knew and reasoned, because Vince loved Dressage and a mare he knew – how long ago? A long time – wasn’t going to rob him of that joy. Vince wasn’t convinced, and Piper was too hot to argue with him. Piper honestly didn’t care to keep arguing with him. He and Vince were sharing the trailer and would be going to the same Dressage comps.
Really, all Piper wanted was the beach right about now and wished Morpheus could come along. But big quiet Morpheus had taken one look at the trailer being prepared and flat-out refused (again). The time came for them to leave, which meant a brief farewell to Morph, whose eyes were guarded and quiet, and into the trailer they went. Piper nickered good bye to Morph, hoped it was reassuring enough though he did not know the stallion’s reason for fearing the trailer. He remembered his own terror and did not push the subject, and it seemed the only subject Vince wouldn’t go on and on about.
So they loaded up and prepared for the long ride. The wind was welcome, the competition a sweaty torture, the beach a welcome retreat, especially Piper suspected, for Vincent who had not been trounced by his childhood frienemy. Then it was off to the next comp, the next body of water to cool off in, the next standing under a sprinkler to try and get a little cooler.
It gave them ideas to share with Morpheus when they went home the following week. So it was that Morpheus’ favorite summer activity was playing with the sprinkler. Piper carried the little green ring around until him human consented and hooked up the water. They ran through it, he and the other two, carried it and sprayed each other and cantered to and fro.
Morpheus, the quietest of the three, was prone to lay down under it when the other two got bored. Piper didn’t mind, as he was too busy trying to walk off the water soaking him through and through to really care much.

'The New Guy'
Word Count: 506
There was no polite way to say it. The small anxious shy eleven-year-old tolter, Piper determined, has no place in their band. But to say it seemed cruel. The humans were walking him through their field, and he kept looking their direction, both pleading and terrified, once catching Piper’s eye his head ducked low.
Piper and his little band were grazing at the far end, as close to the trees as they could get, where it was shady and cool. Piper stood at the front, watching the new guy with alert eyes and pricked ears, grazing momentarily paused. He could feel Vincent’s excited, anxious energy behind him, Morph’s calm look up and then resumption of feeding.
Piper considered the new stallion, considered driving him off as soon as the humans had left, leaving a mark to remember not to enter his territory. The stallion was closer now, close enough to see the scars on his flanks, back, and legs: tiny things, hard to see, but numerous.
Piper blew a warning to the new stallion. The new stallion refused to look up, head low and eyes fixed down. Piper feigned a charge, received a sharp reprimand from his human, and fixed the new stallion with a look. A run-in with dogs, some said. Others said a cougar, or that he was a rescue, or that he had been wild. Nothing confirmed.
The new stallion introduced himself as Erin.
Piper, annoyed, briefly introduced his herd in return. The lead was unclipped, but this ‘Erin’ didn’t move. So Piper moved forward, nosed and pushed and smelled him over to see who he was, how he was, if he would fit. Meanwhile Erin babbled on and on about his trip here, every inane detail that Piper would have forgotten by now.
This new guy passed an unspoken test, and Piper reared up, laid his forelegs over his new herdmate’s back and bit the back of his neck before dropping down, kicking out, and sprinting across the grass. He circled wide and came back as Morpheus and Vincent introduced themselves personally, ran Erin through the same test.
Erin was the bottom of the barrel. He broke up conflicts and silences that Piper did not realize they had, was very quiet and took him a great deal of time to get to know. Erin himself took little time to settle in, but becoming familiar with the herd enough to come out of his shell was a longer trip, one that ended up being rewarding.
His immaturity was amusing, caused more games of tag and truth or dare and ‘Who can get that apple?’ than Piper even knew could be packed into a day. There were times Erin talked him out of jumping the fence to run wild for a few hours, times Erin preformed the miracle of getting Vince to stop talking and the more surprising one of getting Morph to say more than a few words.
Their herd became more well-balanced by this new addition, the atmosphere lighter and, well, better.

'Trouble'
Word Count: 337
As a rule, Piper didn’t like other stallions. At shows he behaved civilly, of course, but he didn’t like them. He was, however, getting used to them being added to his herd. He remembered Flight as the troublesome foal of Rosa’s, a mare he liked and spoke to when able. Flight’s sire was known to Rosa and the ranch owner, and that was it. A stud from far off, so it was impossible for Piper to expect Flight’s personality. He knew Rosa, and that she wasn’t fond of him, but that she was sweet.
Flight was brought with the obvious intention of being a part of Piper’s band, younger and having just filled out all those long awkward legs and muscling up. They fought briefly.
Flight trotted into the field, head raised high. And Piper, from where he, Morph, Vince, and Erin were, looked up, took one glance that hardened into fury and charged across the field. He rammed into clueless Flight like a tanker, rolling over and over and over, a brief tussle that ended with Piper’s victory from experience and seniority.
And after that, with a little scar beneath Flight’s throat latch, he fit right in, the gawky bold youngster to their group. Piper was equal parts annoyed and protective when it came to Flight, often kicking out at him, coming close but never hitting the younger stallion, and absolutely frightening when the vet came to take a look.
So yes, Piper accepted Flight, and Flight was learning through the other stallions how to behave. It was one of those things where it didn’t seem like it was going to work out and then it did. Piper was getting more used to the stallions being added, accepting how each one had a place and how they fit into it.
It was a difficult lesson, one that was becoming easier like math. He had never been part of a stallion band. Had led some mares, yes, and fought other stallions, but this band was his first.

'The Wolves'
Word Count: 441
Winter. Winter was the worst, when even a winter coat didn’t keep the frigid chill out. They should have been in the barn, but Erin was restless and determined to be outside, and Piper wasn’t going to leave Erin by himself, and so the rest of the band followed. It was snowing, freezing, and the only reason they were out was because of Flight’s incredible stall opening skills.
Piper stood pressed against Vince and Morph, while Erin and Flight ran, played tag, rolled in the snow, and proceeded to have a great time. Flight was the one who suggested the idea that they jump the fence and go for a run to warm up, and then come back. It was something Piper had done countless times before, though not in such inclement weather.
His band looked to him, and he looked at them. His word was Law. He didn’t want to, but conceded. They moved nimbly over the fence and through the trees, the wind tugging at their manes and snow dancing in fairy-esque shapes. It was a beautiful day with the blood pumping and warming him, the snow and cloudy gray sky less, well, forboding.
They began to notice they were being followed. It was a slow conclusion, uncertainly drawn, but becoming more of a fact every second. And Erin panicked, neighing ‘Wolves!’ at the top of his lungs and barreling past in a wild flailing sprint that was more bucking than running. Piper dashed after him, head dropping low and snake like, nipping his hocks and hindquarters, forcing Erin to run in tighter and tighter circles until the stallion fell and thrashed.
With the runaway herd member stopped, Piper looked around. It was not wolves, but the local family of coyotes, curious but not aggressive, too small to be much of a threat to five Tolters. Piper snorted, nuzzled the soft spot behind Erin’s ear, waiting for the panicked horse to calm.
And calm he did, though it took a while of trembling in the snow. A quiet ‘Better?’ was responded to with a soft affirmative noise, though he was still shaking. Piper led the band back to the farm at an easy canter, enough to stay warm, not too much for the still shaken Erin. Flight was disappointed, but had learned enough to know to keep his mouth shut. Piper recruited him to put them all back in their stalls as though nothing had happened.
The mares gave them dirty looks, and Piper could have sworn he saw Rosa giving Flight a stern talk, but he wasn’t too concerned. He was more concerned for his worried herdmates’ safety.

'Old Friends New Friends'
Word Count: 595
Angel the dog had been a daily part of Piper’s life before he had been placed with the other stallions. His former herd had been cows, and his best friend the dog who loved to run with him. In the busy seasons he had almost forgotten about all of that, until said dog wriggled underneath the wooden fence and barked a greeting.
Immediately Erin was running, kicking up his hooves and making high panicked noises, while Flight pawed the ground in open challenge and Vince sidestepped, smelling nervous. Piper was confused at first, before remembering that they did not know her. So he took the lead, in neighing a greeting and dancing forward a few steps, stopping and waiting to see if she was up for a game.
As it turned out, she was.
It was good to play with her again, reminding him of the time he spent adjusting to the world of shows and men with her and cows as his only companion. The intricate duck-weave-duck-weave dance of running was fun, easier and fancier now that he competed in Dressage, knew better how to move the half-ton weight of himself gracefully.
And she, although older, moved excitedly, without barking or yipping or biting or nipping, but occasionally licking a leg in a movement uncannily fast. And slowly, carefully, hesitantly, Morph joined into the game, a quiet high-stepping presence in their careful dance of Don’t-Bite-The-Horse-Don’t-Crush-The-Dog. And with Morph and the Herd Leader’s playing so joined Vince, a little more hesitantly, a little further away from the open jaws.
And Flight, of course, bounded into the game and nearly took off poor Angel’s tail with awkward new strength and missed it by a hair. Only Erin refused to play, eyes dark and shadowed as he stood very still, bounding away if their game got to close.
But Piper, Vince, Morph, and Flight had an excellent time, variations on the same theme of run-twist-jump until Angel, leading the game, swerved right and flopped onto her side, panting hard in a wide doggy grin with dark chocolate eyes that spoke of her satisfaction. Piper, following, rolled vigorously before lying flat on his side next to Angel.
Flight danced in place longer, trying to encourage the members of a game that had ended to play again, but Angel the oldest in her respective years, huffed at him and continued panting like she might die soon. Morph showed no outward sign of having spent any energy, laying close to her with his legs folded under and dark head on her paws, where she proceeded to lick his ears rather thoroughly in her maternal way.
Vince, like Flight, was not at all tired or done, and continued to play tag with Flight after Piper, Morph, and Angel had lain down. But even they conceded to rest after all that play, rolling to kick their legs in the air briefly before laying upright nearby and grooming each other.
And Erin, trembling Erin, finally moved a little closer, and a little closer, until he was as close as he dared, and Angel left Morph to creep forward on her belly and nose Erin’s leg, panting momentarily paused though her lungs still heaved, then turning back to snuggle Morph’s head more. Though Erin was terrified of dogs still, he was fine with Angel after that.
So began the inclusion of a female to their band – Angel the dog, unofficial queen when in the pasture and honored playmate. Piper’s nervousness that the other stallion’s would not accept her vanished, melted like butter on fire.