08-04-2009, 12:44 AM
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WC: 601
The little horse refused to leave his side. She had only been born hours earlier, her knobby knees and spindly legs clumsy as she struggled to keep pace with the tall Optime she had chosen as a parent. Her real mother had passed away during the birthing process, which pleased Jacquez to no end because it meant he could finally taste a horse without having to explain why he had hunted one. He had dragged the heavy carcass some ways from the stables, concealed it with some branches beneath the trees, and masked the scent trail with his acrid urine. And perhaps because she did not understand, or was simply to young to do anything other than mimic, the little filly kept stumbling and prancing behind him every step of the way. He continued to threaten that he would eat her too, but she merely blinked back at him with her soulful black eyes, trying to squeak out a semblance of a whinny.
So leaving his future feast hidden for that night, he wandered down to the beach, looking for something to interest him. Rue, the little filly, was fascinated by the shifting sand beneath her small grey hooves. She continued to snort and toss her mane excitedly, feeling the ground sinking where she stood, until she noticed the one-armed dog walking further away. He sighed exasperatedly as the paint filly thumped her head against his thigh, needy as ever. He did not know how he was going to feed her - he planned on locking her up in the paddock nights, assuming that other pregnant mares could nurse her. If horse herds were anything like wolf packs, they would all pitch in, right? Although dog packs let every member fend for themselves... so there was a chance she might starve through the night. Annoyed with this new responsibility, the capricious king was about to chase her back to the stables when he heard a loud, repeated thudding noise.
Since he had been looking for amusement anyway, he followed the inconsistent sound, finally making the connection to the day he had spent with Leroy in the woods - it was the sound of an axe. Assuming he would find the broad-shouldered husky, he unwound the thin line of deerskin from his wrist, the twine that he frequently used to tie back his dark mane. Using his teeth, he made a loop out of the excess, just wide enough to slip over Rue's neck. She huffed and tried to back out, but she had been collared. Squeaking unhappily, the bay-and-white filly could only watch as Jacquez planted a thick branch into the ground, making a stake to secure her tie to. "Serves you right for following me," he jeered, tickling her playfully under her velvety muzzle. "I'll be back soon, so do not make a ruckus." Then without a backward glance to his newest ward, he slipped between the trees, looking for the axeman.
He was met with an unexpected sight - the burnished-orange fur of Haven, his noble young knight, pulverizing some log before him into splinters. He was clearly enraged by something, because his strokes were sloppy and ferocious, his fur bristled all over. It was a fair way to unleash anger, he supposed. He preferred fighting, though. "Sir Haven!" he called over the noise of the chopping. "Why is it I, your king, who comes to calm you, and not your snowy princess? Should you not be spending time with her, rather than murdering trees?" He smiled at his own joke, unaware of just how far Haven had fallen.
The little horse refused to leave his side. She had only been born hours earlier, her knobby knees and spindly legs clumsy as she struggled to keep pace with the tall Optime she had chosen as a parent. Her real mother had passed away during the birthing process, which pleased Jacquez to no end because it meant he could finally taste a horse without having to explain why he had hunted one. He had dragged the heavy carcass some ways from the stables, concealed it with some branches beneath the trees, and masked the scent trail with his acrid urine. And perhaps because she did not understand, or was simply to young to do anything other than mimic, the little filly kept stumbling and prancing behind him every step of the way. He continued to threaten that he would eat her too, but she merely blinked back at him with her soulful black eyes, trying to squeak out a semblance of a whinny.
So leaving his future feast hidden for that night, he wandered down to the beach, looking for something to interest him. Rue, the little filly, was fascinated by the shifting sand beneath her small grey hooves. She continued to snort and toss her mane excitedly, feeling the ground sinking where she stood, until she noticed the one-armed dog walking further away. He sighed exasperatedly as the paint filly thumped her head against his thigh, needy as ever. He did not know how he was going to feed her - he planned on locking her up in the paddock nights, assuming that other pregnant mares could nurse her. If horse herds were anything like wolf packs, they would all pitch in, right? Although dog packs let every member fend for themselves... so there was a chance she might starve through the night. Annoyed with this new responsibility, the capricious king was about to chase her back to the stables when he heard a loud, repeated thudding noise.
Since he had been looking for amusement anyway, he followed the inconsistent sound, finally making the connection to the day he had spent with Leroy in the woods - it was the sound of an axe. Assuming he would find the broad-shouldered husky, he unwound the thin line of deerskin from his wrist, the twine that he frequently used to tie back his dark mane. Using his teeth, he made a loop out of the excess, just wide enough to slip over Rue's neck. She huffed and tried to back out, but she had been collared. Squeaking unhappily, the bay-and-white filly could only watch as Jacquez planted a thick branch into the ground, making a stake to secure her tie to. "Serves you right for following me," he jeered, tickling her playfully under her velvety muzzle. "I'll be back soon, so do not make a ruckus." Then without a backward glance to his newest ward, he slipped between the trees, looking for the axeman.
He was met with an unexpected sight - the burnished-orange fur of Haven, his noble young knight, pulverizing some log before him into splinters. He was clearly enraged by something, because his strokes were sloppy and ferocious, his fur bristled all over. It was a fair way to unleash anger, he supposed. He preferred fighting, though. "Sir Haven!" he called over the noise of the chopping. "Why is it I, your king, who comes to calm you, and not your snowy princess? Should you not be spending time with her, rather than murdering trees?" He smiled at his own joke, unaware of just how far Haven had fallen.