Biscotti

Mare | 5 Years | Herd Mare | Mentions: Herd (ind.) Reima (ind.)

Standing against a crippling oak, a black and white painted mare was rubbing her left side against the dying oak, shaking the poor thing as she did so. Her body itched and ached all over, even during a wretched, unearthly drought, the consequences of standing out in the sun for far too long would still get to her, along with a nasty case of bugs. Thankfully, the drought helped the bug population die out a bit, however the mare was still plagued by them.

As the flashy mare finished relieving her aches and itches, she stepped to the side, and shook out her coat. Small pieces of dead bark and twigs flew off of her, leaving a few patches of ruffled fur. Annoyed, the mare sighed, shaking her coat once more to even out the ruffled fur. Eventually, it evened out enough for her to deal with.. she had a feeling they'd be moving quite a bit today, maybe that would help with it.

The herd mare began to walk back towards the majority of the herd, only to be greeted with a smell of hopelessness. Lovely. Biscotti, was not entirely effected by the previous events. Was her mood effected? Of course~ the lead mare was now deceased, and everyone seemed to think it was all over. Yes, Sunna was certainly one of a kind, but was it that surprising? The good ones never last long, everyone should have known that by now. And the foal? Well, the foal certainly should have known better, in this herd, there is no doubt about it that it was told a hundred times to steer close, and never to wander off. Look at it now. Oh- yes.. thats correct, no one can look at it. Unless they wanted to look within a dogs stomach.

Flicking her tail, in a ticked off mood, the mare lifted her head a little bit higher, looking for her darling Reima. Biscotti didn't love many horses, only a selected few, however, in this case, only one. Her foal, Reima. Love.. love was probably not the perfect word for her relationship with her daughter. Like? Yes, she most certainly liked her daughter, but love? No, no. It may have been nearly impossible for Biscotti to truly love someone. However, that stubborn yearling may be a handful, the mare was glad to have had her, probably one of the only few things in her life she didn't regret.

Sighing in defeat, Biscotti lowered her head, her lips inches above the bitter grass. She opened her mouth slightly, ready to take in a mouthful of it, but hesitated. Last night, before the foals death, the herd mare had attempted to have herself a lovely dinner. One, the foals death completely ruined her apatite, two, the grass was simply disgusting. But, she wouldn't starve herself, no, no. With a absolutely disgusted expression, Biscotti took a mouthful, then another, and another, swalling every mouthful after the other, she needed to eat. It would be detrimental for her if she weren't to eat, lord.

"Do you think I can, like, knock down that tree?"

The stallion of large proportions stood tall, staring at a thin birch tree in the distance. "I think I can do it." Straightening his neck, he jolted it to the side, cracking it a singular time before repeating the motion on the other side. "Emre, time me." Trotting in one spot, Arlo's tail swayed behind him as he narrowed his eyes at his target before pausing. A moment later, the stallion broke out into a sprint, using his legs to propel himself forward. Tail and mane flying in the breeze, Arlo lowered his head, releasing a deep grunt as his shoulder smashed against the thin tree, an uncomfortable crack sounding. Whether it was his shoulder or the tree, nobody could tell.

Pausing, Arlo watched as the tree teetered before falling with a thump. Spinning in a singular circle, the bay stallion released a deep bellied laugh as he stared at the fallen birch. "I am powerful, I am strong, I am a god," he rehearsed to himself, nodding along to his words before glancing to his brothers. "Emre, what was the time so I know what to beat next time. Say, do you think I should go for a thicker tree? I think I can handle it." Head raising, the stallion twirled around his brothers like a ballerina before stopping alongside of Belial.

"Are we close to the herd, Bel?" Asked Arlo, shortening his brother's name and converting it into one suited for a female. He didn't leave it at that either, no, the male genuinely shifted up to his older brother, lips nearing his ear before making a kissing noise. "If it makes you feel better, I still think you're the prettiest mare around," he cooed before snorting and sprinting next to Emre. Pure immaturity was what Arlo was, childish as well, though mainly among those he knew. His brothers, for instance, he knew for a very long time. Since a foal, really. Granted, they weren't full brothers, merely half. They shared a father, but that didn't matter to Arlo. To him, they were pure blood.

"I'm bored," he announced, turning to Emre, his younger brother. While Belial and himself were built for strength, Emre was built for speed. It was impressive how he could whiz around without hardly breaking a sweat. Did Arlo admit it? Of course not, but he thought it. So, while staring at Emre, Arlo observed for an uncomfortable amount of time before doing something random.

He pushed him.

It wasn't out of character for Arlo. He often went around his brothers and randomly tackled or pushed them before breaking out into a run. This was one of those times. The stallion hopped a few meters away, lowering his head in Emre's direction as if preparing to spar. Jumping from side to side, he challenged Emre to a game of tag. "If you win, you can tell me to do something at anytime, and I can't say no. If I win.. Well, same thing." Without another word, the male sprinted off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Atlas

Stallion | 6 Years | Bachelor | Mentions: Herd (ind.) Bachelor Trio (ind.)

Walking along a dried river bank, following the sights of a large variation of different hoof marks and sizes, indicating a herd that had passed through the area, and following it, was nonetheless, a bachelor looking for some action.

In a steady trot, a young bachelor stud was following the faint smell and tracks of a herd, known as the Valley Herd. He'd been following them for a few weeks, driven off a few times, but that didn't stop him, no no. He has his eyes on a few of the ladies that reside within the herd, and has a plan on snatching them away, until he has the guts to take on the Lead stallion, but that was probably a hard no. He has seen the eyes of that gigantic brute, larger than most horses he had ever seen before, and he hasn't seen the second in command, or whatnot yet, but he has a feeling he may just be as big. But then again.. when did he ever listen to his gut not to take large problems on? 'He'll never learn,' was his early prognosis in life.

Atlas, the lone bachelor, snorted to himself just before he slowed to a walk, and sighed heavily, taking in a few breathers, "Why do they move so much.. the only thing tailing them is myself, right?-" taking that in for a moment or two, Atlas slowed to a stop, and looked around, making sure he indeed was the only one tailing them. From his side of the herd, anyways. Thankfully, he saw no danger nor threat, not even another bachelor or horse. All was good. Chuckling nervously to himself, he jumped into a nice canter, following after the tracks.

The stallion was dumb.. dont get him wrong, he was not super intelligent however he knew being alone during such a drought was dangerous, twice as dangerous with the extreme hot flashes and all. All he had to do, was get to the herd, finally make his move, grab some ladies, get out of there, find the nearest and most stable source of water, then boom. His life would finally be on the right track. Of course.. that was his dream, his hope. But he knew better, he rather believe his dreams than reality.

A soft wind blew, and the slighest hint of stallion stench blew past his nose, but he ignored it for a few moments, before pushing himself into a full gallop, his hooves thundering against the grass, flicking gravel, small rocks, dirt, the whole lot up and out from underneath his hooves, his ears pinned back, barreling across the flat surface. It only took him a few moments to realize that a full gallop was not the best soltuion. One, he was a little stocky, and his hooves could alert the herd if he was close enough, or, any other unsuspecting bachelors and draw them towards him and the herd. Two, he would ruin his chance to run away rom any other predator. So it was best to calm down, and keep it a steady trot.

Baldr

Beside a fallen tree, resting their head on the decaying log, a young colt was resting beside it, legs sprawled outwards, resting his head ontop of the fallen tree, using a small stub of where a branch had used to be for support. The yearling was quite shooken up by last nights events. He didn't know how to grasp it, the falling of the Lead Mare.. the death of the little foal who unfortunately wondered too far. He didn't know if it were right to feel sad. He didn't really know Sunna, even though it was his grandsires mate, he never really knew her well. But, from what he heard from the mares, she was a good friend and was loved by many of the others. It made him feel bad for not knowing her more, and for that, he felt even more upset about the lead mares death. And when that foal died last night, it made matters so much worse for him.

Opening his eyes slowly, and taking in a few deep breaths, the young yearling lifted his head to look around, to see one of the fellow yearlings under a dead oak. The yearling became familiar, it was Lorcan. Then, he realized that Lorcan was the foal of Sunna's. Baldr couldn't even think of what he'd do without his mother, let alone doing if she had died. Maybe he could try to cheer him up. Lifting his front end up, his front legs whipped out from underneath of him, and stretched. Then he pushed up his rear end, leaning forward, then leaning back, keeping his hooves planted in one spot. After he had finished stretching out his legs, the yearling colt shook out his coat, and began walking over to Lorcan, keeping his ears perked forward.

The dark colored yearling was on his way over to Lorcan, when something caught his eye. Just on the other side of the decaying log, was grass. Well, of course there would be grass there, thats not what caught his eye. Unlike the rest of the grass, this grass was a little bit greener, not by much, but when he took a small nibble of it, it tasted better than the rest of it all. Baldr leaned down and grabbed a mouthful of the greener-ish grass, and continued walking over to Lorcan.

Baldr made his way over to Lorcan, now only a few feet away from him. "Heyph Lorphcan," he greeted, his words muffled by the grass in his mouth. He lowered his head slowly, and took a few inches closer to the other yearling, and placed the mouthful of grass onto the ground, and nudged it towards him. Baldr was quiet for the moment, "I, uh, found some greener grass over by that log over there," he mentioned, turning his head back over to the log before facing Lorcan again, "I wanted to give you some.. since, well, this stuff is kinda gross, yknow."

Reima

Filly // Yearling // Mentions: Biscotti (dir), Lorcan, Atolos, Morrigan, Baldr, Sunna (ind)

Reima's eyes fluttered open, her face was pointed toward her mother's rump, while the rest of her leaned against the oak. The poor thing was probably just suffering from these two scratching and leaning on it. She wouldn't be surprised if it snapped. Her mother, Biscotti, seemed a little too into the itching, though. Reima simply copied her, but she had nothing to really itch at. Almost immediately, she jinxed herself. Finding a good spot, she stretched her neck out and began to rub her chin on the bark. That's the spot. With a quiet, relieved sigh, Reima returned to her own relaxed posture. With a back hoof cocked and her head lowered, she could manage to take a nap this time. The heat wasn't too unbearable right now, and the oak provided just enough shade to keep the sun out of her eyes.

Before she could close her eyes, her oh-so beloved mother began to shake, ridding herself of any debris that might have clung to her beautiful pelt. To Reima's disdain, all of that managed to somehow catch onto the slightest breeze, going right onto Reima herself. "Pfft Mother-" Reima snorted, shaking her head with disgust before managing to shake herself off. She had just finished grooming herself- and now she's back to square one. When she managed to open her eyes, Biscotti had already left the oak. Reima tightened her lip before taking a few steps, instinctively wanting to follow her mother around, but the moment her leg left the bit of shade she had, she changed her mind.

She let out an exasperated sigh, deciding she was going to be stuck here until Atolos forced her to move on with the herd. She didn't mind it, but being the yearling she was, she knew she'd grow restless. She was hungry, parched even, but that can't kill her fire. It may ache to swallow, but Reima had faith that they'd come across water sometime soon. They had to come across water. If not, Reima would lose whatever strength she had left and would become just like that foal. She wasn't going to be a meat bag for those brain-dead goblins. Their howls still echoed in her mind, as they had celebrated with a full belly last night. "Lucky bastards," Reima muttered, somewhat feeling guilty for the lack of remorse she held for that foal.

Reima grunted, shoving the thought to the back of her head as she looked around. Almost everyone was clinging to every sparse bit of shade they could find. Her eyes centered on a certain golden-coated yearling that blended in quite well with his newfound surroundings. Lorcan seemed to have had all the life seeped out of him just a week ago. After Sunna's death, the entire family tree they held seemed to shut down, going full depression on the herd. Luckily Atolos didn't seem to go dumbfound, unlike Lorcan. He simply stood against the tree, looking just as dead as its crispy bits of bark that it managed to keep.

In Reima's eyes, Lorcan was always a little shit. Ever since they were foals, he always had to try and one-up her. Whatever she did to impress her mom, he would do. Vice versa and this is what you get in the end. Whatever remarks they said to each other were never really kind, but they were genuine. What's left of that annoying little colt? Practically nothing. It was a sad sight to see, her enemy since foalhood has shut down entirely. Reima hadn't spoken a word to him since; not one of comfort nor spite. Perhaps she should? No. Mother would think less of Reima for lowering herself to such a level, surely. Reima yearned for her mother's love and pride, but it seemed like she had to fight the world to get a scrape of it.

Reima couldn't look at Lorcan without getting a pit of emotions start to dwell in her, so she glanced back out into the barren land. Gods, she wishes she hadn't. She spotted the firey chestnut yearling, Morrigan. Almost just as annoying as her little brother. She seemed to still be mostly herself, which wouldn't be helping Reima any time soon. Morrigan was always there whenever Reima was hovering around Lorcan, giving Reima the death glare with every word she spew. Who wouldn't get intimidated? She's way older than Reima. It's practically harassment at that stage.

A shudder ran down her spine and she quickly averted her gaze before Morrigan would notice Reima staring. She vividly remembers the days Morrigan nearly nipped at her. She was practically a mare, so it was foul play- right? Plus, Morrigan is way too tall for her age. It's not fair that Reima had to be bred out of Caszius, one of the smallest stallions in the herd, while Morrigan got a goliath for a father. "The odds are just against me aren't they," Reima muttered, chewing nothing in her mouth, just trying to salivate a bit more. Reima glanced back over to Lorcan, instinctively gaining a sorrowful pit. "Stop being so depressed." She said a bit louder, but not nearly enough to reach Lorcan or anyone else near.

That's when another familiar yearling seemed to pop out of nowhere, approaching him. Baldr. Baldr the bastard, right? Was he the one with the mysterious dad that dipped the moment his mom fell for him? Or was that a different one? Ah, who cares. Reima never really paid much attention to him, he seemed like a doormat so he wasn't any fun to pursue. Seeing Lorcan just stand there, practically lifeless just reminded Reima more and more of the lead mare, her lifeless body on the ground, the smell of sickness in the air. Lorcan was just fine making snide comments toward Reima until then. Everything was fine until then. Reima ground her teeth together, facing her sorrow with aggression. Biscotti never shed a tear, why should she? Reima looked among the herd for her mother.

She decided to brave the sun and go out, longing to be beside her Mother. Plus, the shade that her mother created was a lot more comforting than this old nasty tree that was just waiting for death to come for it. She trotted over, prancing toward her mom in a beautiful fashion before stopping to an immediate halt by her side. Her lip fluttered up to her mother's ribs, which were beginning to show a bit due to the lack of nutrition. Everybody's ribs were. She let out a small nicker, greeting her mother for the 500th time today before grooming her side a bit. "Gawh- you taste like shit," She sarcastically joked, before finding a comfortable spot in her shadow. She didn't think Biscotti took that seriously--- right? Was she just about to get a mouthful of her mother's hoof? Regret began to bubble as Reima looked frantically at Biscotti's eyes, trying to see what her intentions were.

Caszius

13 | Herd Stallion | Mentions: Everyone (ind) Yvaine (dir)

Caszius gazed over the herd, walking around aimlessly, trying to lessen the stiffness that had built up in his legs. It was a rough night last night, and he didn't want to focus on it. Instead, he picked up his head a bit, observing the herd, trying to spot the black and white yearling. Ah, there she is. Reima was standing by a tree, her eyes were focused on a certain someone- when were they not? The spitfire and Lorcan were always at each other's throats, but now that Lorcan wasn't playing along, it seems that Reima was contemplating whether or not she should continue to be an ass. A small chuckle left him as he rolled his eyes. He couldn't blame all of the attitudes on Biscotti- after all, he was a massive shit when he was younger, too. He still pretty much is, but at least he knows restraint now.

The black stallion lazily walked into the small ditch that was the dry riverbed. He pawed thoroughly, digging a small pit to try and see if he could recover any remains of water. This would determine just how close they were to finding a source. To his disdain, not even moist soil came through. He let out a shaky sigh, staring down the riverbed into the endless horizen. They should've been traveling last night. All of last night. Now everybody's going to be too deprived and tired of the sun to make the migration easier. Its not like they could've slept anyway. Those damn coyotes.. their hollowed howls... the silence of the herd.

Caszius shook his head, not wanting those dark thoughts to come up again, but he couldn't help it. He could still smell the iron in the air, he could see the grief in the mother's eyes. It was the same look that he had when he saw Sunna's corpse. Caszius joined the herd when Sunna was just a little filly, prancing around the green fields, happy as can be. He thought of her as a little sister, but he knew she could protect herself. Hell, he even has a few scars from her whenever they'd wrestle when she was growing. She was a compassionate and kind soul but knew when to stand her ground. She was the perfect mare to lead them all. Now what has become of her? Caszius fought back tears, he truly did love Sunna as if they were blood.

Her voice still rang through his head, her wisdom, her laugh. I'm pathetic. Caszius beat himself down, everyone else was managing to put on a brave face, why couldn't he? He's the oldest one here but he still can't control his emotions, can he? Caszius lowered his head to the ground, sniffing at the ditch he had recently pawed at. It was cool. He began to dig around it, making a nice, comforting, cool patch to be able to roll in. The dirt would keep the heat off of his dark coat and should help with sweat burn. He began to buckle his knees when Sunna's voice popped in his head again, he stopped midway, in an awkward position, and glanced toward the others in his herd. Sunna always put everyone else first, why shouldn't he? At least just this once..

Caszius looked around, scanning the barren wasteland for a certain blood bay. Spotting her, he picked up his head. "Yvaine!" He let out a strong whinny, one that broke the silence of the herd. He then motioned his head, urging her to come to him. The mare deserved a break, and this cool patch of dirt should help give it to her. He pawed at it more, making sure it was going to be big enough for her to comfortably roll in. That should do it. He waited for her to approach, longing to be around someone who is able to control their feelings, someone who was as solid as a rock so he didn't feel like he was falling apart from all this loss.