This Strange Impression

Heath morte dre Soul · 08-01-2010, 03:00 PM

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Heath looked into the light eyes of the painted horse. But in truth they looked at each other, both stern as stone. His amber gaze seemed dark, no longer the honey hue that was natural for him but as thick as heavily packed sand. His hands were on the chest high door of the stall, clutching it and holding it shut. His breath was fast, puffin in and out just as the horse’s.

Soucis; his problems his issues. All wrapped up into a black and white patched package that the young stallion was. He thought that there was connection between them, and he reflection on the fact as he locked the stall and walked away.

It had been instant, like the pull he felt with Lumière, and Heath had felt the familiar understanding that came between him and Stark. But now, there was nothing easy about this horse. Heath had found him unruly after the first night he had spent in the stables. Like he had decided against the move from the herd to this place. Heath then moved him to the pasture, where he was more content yet, distant. He did not take to training, though he did not mind the halter or the rope but the direction brought an aggressive nature out of him. And thus, he was dubbed Soucis.

After that Heath had given him one large option, allowing the horse to be free and giving him an open gate. But, frustratingly the patched creature had decided against it and turned to move back to the fresh grass and the rest of the horses that had been put out into the field. It might have been the most frustrating of all, his problem would not just go away.

He sighed heavily, knowing that the day’s work was still not finished and with not motivation to complete it. Sitting with a thump on a wooded crate, Heath tipped the hat he wore over his eyes and leaning his head back to rest on the frame of the building.

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