Ⓟσмρєιι
it hadn't always been like this. in this land, this now vast open space, horses and humans had been allies from the start. horses were respected, cared for, their human counterparts kind and patient. for years, decades, centuries horses aided the humans in their building. their disputes. their expansion and conquests, and of course as simple companions. that all came crashing down when the humans encountered their first true hardship. storms and sickness and famine. crops were lost, citizens died and houses were ripped apart, brick by brick, by fierce winds. the horses became possessions. tools. currency of a sort. they were worked until they went lame, dragging supplies and humans and materials, beaten when the acted out or when they stopped from exhaustion. it didn't change anything, though. of course it didn't horses were dying, humans were dying, and the trust had been lost forever. it was months later when they escaped, when they broke down fences and gates and fled into the night. into the land in which they had been taken from. hundreds of horses escaping from the humans now-cruel grasp, back into the wilderness they had once called home. now, months, years, generations later, the war remains. the powerful mustangs, the elegant arabians, the proud, mighty, fearless creatures thrived, repopulated, returned to their natural instincts. the humans, they rebuilt. they struggle, yet they survive. and the horses are not safe from their harsh rule. lassos and wires and stakes and humans on beaten and broken steeds. the mustangs have come to know them as the oppressors. mortality rates have dropped, more and more mustangs have fallen victim to the oppressors. will the mustangs ever rid themselves of this threat? of these humans who wish to imprison them?
