Oh wow! the ghost girl is back! HAHA! Just kidding, but I have been really inactive due to my own horse adoptables. To make up for it... here is this lovely little girl!
punkrock. wrote:Owner: Punkrock.
Show Name: I See Fire
Barn Name: Smaug (Because The Hobbit was AH-MAZING and her backstory)
Gender: Mare
Age: 6 years old
Breed: Appaloosa
Color: Red Roan
Height: 15.3 HH
Other: Story.
Fire and Desolation
It was nearing dark, the sun had fallen far behind the trees and it's last strands of light faded to the glory of the heavens and stars. A small band of mustangs stirred only slightly, laying to rest in a meadow hidden at the base of the mountains and sheltered within the pines and mosses. One of the last herds here in Oregon and they held the ruling position. A young red roan appaloosa stood grazing, nestled in scenery and peace. She lifted her head and looked towards the herd she had lived in her whole life. Her father was the lead stallion, her mother an older mare. In fact this appaloosa was her last foal, the birth had taken a toll on her, though she lived until this past summer. It was probably for the best as this winter was already harsh, but it would get worse as it was only December. The mare took in the wind that blew her mane past her face and tail between her legs. She missed her mother, the one who really raised her, her father had many foals and didn't bother with any of them. His duty was to his herd.
The mare smelt the air out of boredom or checking before she laid down for a bout of deep sleep. She smelt a faint warning. A faint smell all horses fear. Smoke. It got stronger, she knew it was in the forest near her. The wind picked up and the smell grew. She nickered and took a cautious step back. Before the herd smelt the smoke and embers, she cantered to the herd, sending them a harsh whinny. The lead stallion raised his bay head and smelt the air, his nostrils flared as the wind blew once more. He looked to the forest, then his herd and made a choice to flew his meadow and homeland. Waking the sleeping others and rousing the young horses, he set off in the opposite direction of the fire.
Whipping through the trees and slippery moss and ricks, over fallen logs. it was amazing the fire caught, but that doesn't matter, what does is that it did. The mare stayed with her father, neck and neck, he always protected her, just didn't nurture her. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw the blaze. Big, red, fiery hot. she slowed in awe and stared, it grew closer and the herds numbers dwindled as either the flame ate them with the ghost of a neigh or the fled in many directions in chaos. Few horses whipped past her to the stallion, she just stood, until a large brute reared and slammed his hooves down in front of her. The bay that was her sire stood, forcing her out of her fear induced trance, nipping her withers and herding her to the six horses that waited for them anxiously. Two blood bays, whose coats looked on fire themselves, a blue roan, who looked to glow almost a green orange, a black blanket appaloosa, a smoky grey, and a buckskin.
When the two joined them, they continued their flight.
For hours. For hours they ran and for hours the fire built in size and strength. They lost one of the bloods, the blue roan, and the grey. The red roan's father urged her to go, save herself. It wasn't until embers singed her coat and burned her mane and tail that she ran, leaving her father and the last members of her herd. it was near morning when she doubled back to the meadow. It had turned from bright green to pitch black, glowing ashes churned with each step she took. She smelt horse on the air, hoping it was her herd, she called out. But it was three members of a local ranch, ones who fed the horses in winter in the feeders. She realized what she had done as the riders came to the meadow. She was exhausted and let her head fall, out of hope, out of energy, out of the will to live. It wasn't until a rope was around her neck that she looked up at a friendly face, or as friendly of a face Aaron Hobbes, the owner of Lone Starr Ranch could make. His short brown hair flecked with ash, his dark eyes staring with intrigued, the creases on his face made from frowns and smiles in the past. He was easily fourty and seen many a horse, but this was new for him.
"Let's get her back to the ranch," Aaron told the two others. One was a lanky red-haired Scottish ranch hand, the other a large bearded, well built, farrier. They had come to check the fencing and land.
"Aye, Spencer'll need to take a-lookin at this poor lass," the Scott replied, his name was Scotty, as the brute of a man next to him said; "She needs to be looked at alright, look at those burns, poor girl," his name was David.
The red roan was too tired to put up a fight as the checked her over and led her through the cobbled stone floored, pure oak stable.
"I think we"ll call you I See Fire, or Smaug for short, not to remind you of your experience, but because it fits your coat," The man was tall, lean and lanky, about twenty five and had dark, medium length hair which he pushed behind his ears. He had a brown button-up shirt, a purple vest, a brown jacket with leather patches on the elbows and brown pressed pants, with worn white Converse. "Yeah, Smaug, i can see it." he murmured as he shut the stall door, which was big and heavy, with iron bars in front. Smaug didn't care, she laid down and slept. And if a horse could cry, you bet she would be.
I was thinking of fire as I made her!!!
