Mare || Loner || 5 Years
Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.
~ William Shakespeare
A black and white dove took careful steps forward; her head raised high and her ears perked forward. Who all was around? When would she find another? Would she find someone who was at least somewhat calm, rather than a total hot head? She was unsure as she paced forward. Her fluffy white mane bounced against her neck as she moved into a trot; her tail and heat trailing behind her. Her instincts told her to find a stallion; and inside that's what she wanted, but she wanted the right stallion that would keep her safe and care for her.
Mare || Loner || 5 Years
Cowards die many times before
their deaths; the valiant never
taste of death but once.
~ William Shakespeare
The lithe mare stood more to herself; listening to the bellows of stallions and the whinnies and snorts of mares. She despised them all, and that was clearly seen. Her ears were almost always pulled back against her crown; hidden in her long off-white colored mane. Her violet colored eyes often narrowed. She liked having a different color from almost any other horse; though it set her apart from others most often, called names and such for it. It was a mutation that couldn't be helped. The tall mare was an Arabian, crossed with a shire to give her height, but not enough for a muscle mass; often leaving her defenseless against predators and brutal studs. Though she was a quick runner, and more often it made up for her lack of strength. Despite all of this, the mare would still give a fight to keep her freedom in tact; and hers alone.
Mare || Loner || 5 Years
Death is a fearful thing.
~ William Shakespeare
The red roan brindle mare puled back another step, stumbling over her hooves for a moment as his nudge. Her brown eyes were staring crossly at the stallion{Night}; but calm for the moment. She listened to him speak, and she had a feeling that he was telling the truth. She felt his next nudge, pulling back another step contemplative. She dipped her head slightly, staring up at the brute through brown eyes; cautious.
Lead Stallion || Adelaide, Ushanti || 6 Years
An overflow of good converts to bad.
~ William Shakespeare
The Buckskin stallion snorted as he stood in front of the cave Ushanti had fit herself into. Their was no food or water for the mare, and soon she would have to come out and when she did, she would be his, foal and all. He was tired of trying to be nice and to have some sort of arrangement's with the ebony mare; she had refused it when she ran. Though, after a moment, he lowered his muzzle, tearing at the grass beneath him, only to toss it through the small crack he could not fit through. Though he was angered with the mare, he did not want to see her starve. Weather she took this offer or not was her choice. He would not be able to offer her water, however.
