~Day Four: Join Up Begins~
~WIP~
Today was the day. The day I'd been waiting for ever since I had been accepted into Cottonwood's Mustang Makeover project. The day I could finally weave my magic.
Today was going to be our first session of Join Up.
...
*timeskip in place, will erase once no need for WIP*
I felt my hands sweating beneath my riding gloves yet the rope I had selected for the Join Up session was held in place by the gripping texture of the gloves. But it wasn't out of fear, no. Instead a wave of adrenaline rushed through me in excitement. With the horse before me galloping around the periphery of the pen I know I had to try and keep calm, but the thrill of seeing this new boy move... Each hoofbeat sent his muscles rippling through his entire leg, all the way to the spine. His mighty chest heaved as he surged forwards, his ribs pressing against flesh on occasion. As his powerful neck tore backwards and forwards in perpetual motion, the strands of his bicoloured mane ripped through the air behind him like a collection of razor-sharp blades. The sandy ears of the gelding were pinned so tightly against his head it was almost as if they were not even there in the first place. Deep brown eyes, the whites barely visible at the front, locked onto my green ones as his nostrils flared, terrified and wild.
This gelding reeked of power. A life in the wild had made him strong, despite his lack of experience. With such a fine specimen surging forwards it was plain to see why the American people were so proud of their wild horses. For that was what they are, wild and free. Even here, in a British round pen far away from his place of birth, the male horse looked like a wild animal, primeval and dangerous. His dun markings only added to the sense of a primordial creature. The sandy coloured coat, the black stripes...
Suddenly I began to piece something together.
This boy was just like a wild animal. Though a herbivore more frightened of me than I was of him, something about him seemed nearly predatory. His galloping felt more like a zoo animal pacing in its cage, waiting for its meal. I wasn't afraid, but I could feel a rush coursing through me when I looked into those deep, savage eyes. He was tearing at the ground with his hooves in an almost feline manner, like Panthera ripping into their prey. And his stripes... Against the nearly-Przewalski hide cloaking his muscles, the black lines strewn across his legs and down his back made him look almost like a tiger...
Tiger...
"Tiger."
At this, the first word I had uttered in the past half hour since this process began, the inside ear of the gelding flicked in my direction, curious to my strange call...
~WIP~
Today was the day. The day I'd been waiting for ever since I had been accepted into Cottonwood's Mustang Makeover project. The day I could finally weave my magic.
Today was going to be our first session of Join Up.
...
*timeskip in place, will erase once no need for WIP*
I felt my hands sweating beneath my riding gloves yet the rope I had selected for the Join Up session was held in place by the gripping texture of the gloves. But it wasn't out of fear, no. Instead a wave of adrenaline rushed through me in excitement. With the horse before me galloping around the periphery of the pen I know I had to try and keep calm, but the thrill of seeing this new boy move... Each hoofbeat sent his muscles rippling through his entire leg, all the way to the spine. His mighty chest heaved as he surged forwards, his ribs pressing against flesh on occasion. As his powerful neck tore backwards and forwards in perpetual motion, the strands of his bicoloured mane ripped through the air behind him like a collection of razor-sharp blades. The sandy ears of the gelding were pinned so tightly against his head it was almost as if they were not even there in the first place. Deep brown eyes, the whites barely visible at the front, locked onto my green ones as his nostrils flared, terrified and wild.
This gelding reeked of power. A life in the wild had made him strong, despite his lack of experience. With such a fine specimen surging forwards it was plain to see why the American people were so proud of their wild horses. For that was what they are, wild and free. Even here, in a British round pen far away from his place of birth, the male horse looked like a wild animal, primeval and dangerous. His dun markings only added to the sense of a primordial creature. The sandy coloured coat, the black stripes...
Suddenly I began to piece something together.
This boy was just like a wild animal. Though a herbivore more frightened of me than I was of him, something about him seemed nearly predatory. His galloping felt more like a zoo animal pacing in its cage, waiting for its meal. I wasn't afraid, but I could feel a rush coursing through me when I looked into those deep, savage eyes. He was tearing at the ground with his hooves in an almost feline manner, like Panthera ripping into their prey. And his stripes... Against the nearly-Przewalski hide cloaking his muscles, the black lines strewn across his legs and down his back made him look almost like a tiger...
Tiger...
"Tiger."
At this, the first word I had uttered in the past half hour since this process began, the inside ear of the gelding flicked in my direction, curious to my strange call...
