08-03-2009, 01:48 PM
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The king found himself in the stables that day, curious once more as to the attraction his followers felt towards horses. Horses continued to baffle him. They were just large, noisy deer, correct? So why was there some taboo against hunting or eating them? Before they both parted their separate ways, Firefly Sadira and Svara Thames had herded some score of wild equines into their paddock. The skittish, untamed beasts remained, grazing the overgrown grass, and occasionally snorting nervously at the tall collie-dog. He snorted in return, dark eyes narrowed skeptically. He could get his kicks elsewhere.
He strolled into the barn, inhaling the warm grassy scent of the well-tended mounts. These were the few chosen horses, the ones that his packmates had specifically trained to ride atop. Some of their names were etched into the soft wood of the stable doors, but the king could not read, and ignored the details. A loud braying caught his attention, and he turned, folded ears pricked forward.
At first he thought the mare was dying. She lay atop her distended belly in the scattered hay of the stall, dark with sweat, eyes rolling with stress. She tossed her mane with discomfort, seemingly unable to stand. Jacquez rested his arm on the stable door to watch, musing whether or not he was supposed to end her misery. It wasn't really his style. Then he realized that the suffering horse was not in fact sick, but giving birth...! The king immediately wrinkled his nose with chauvinist disgust, washed over by the scent of blood and placenta. He was glad he was never birthed in this fashion. He had simply come into existence, unlike other earthly creatures that were created in a sea of slime bursting forth from between a female's legs.
As he stared with morbid curiosity, a fluid sac emerged, tumbling onto the dusty floor. Long spindly legs kicked frantically though the liquid mess, afterbirth sloshing around the mother's hindquarters. Jacquez stared with a mixture of horror and aberration as the little foal struggled to stand for the first time, still slimy with its mother's blood and innards. Why would any female of any species want to have children? Did they know this was what it was like? Wasn't this supposed to be some sort of miracle? How absolutely repulsive!
Finally able to wrench himself away from the grisly scene, the one-armed Optime moved to leave the stables, but something butted against his hand. Frowning, the king turned to see the newborn foal, shakily reaching out for him over the stable wall. The creature's muzzle was slimy. Growling under his breath, he wiped the stickiness off onto the wall and moved to leave again. The little foal squeaked, bobbing its head as it attempted to whinny. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, petit? Ask your mother for milk if you're so-" he grumbled, and then his proud voice fell silent. He had been right the first time. The mare was dying after all. She lay prone on the stable floor, tongue lolling in the last stages of exhaustion. The foal she had birthed was left an orphan.
Jacquez unlatched the door with a claw, curious to see what the youth would do. The damp little horse took one step forward and tripped, collapsing in a tangled mess of legs. He snorted a laugh, tail waving slowly behind him. The foal huffed impatiently, staggering back up on all fours, so that it could wobble forward and butt his hand again. "What do you want from me, eh? I am a king, not a mommy-horse. The last stray I picked up was a little blind pup, and I never could get rid of her," he complained teasingly. Actually, the pathetic young thing did remind him of Ruri, in a way. It, too, was helpless without him. He did like to be relied on. "...All right. You can follow me. But if you fall behind, I'm leaving you in the paddock to be some other horse's problem," he warned, waggling his finger at the foal. She - for it was a filly - bobbed her head in agreement, squeaking a nicker. As her fur dried, he could see that she was a paint, white with splotches of chestnut all over. The collie ruffled her pricked ears, smiling indulgently. Yes, Ruri had answered the same way. "Je t'appelle... Rue. Welcome to the world, Rue." He eyed the prostrate body of Rue's mother, warmth fading from her sprawled form. He would not let the sacrifice be in vain - he would be eating well tonight.
[/html][html]Coat of arms copied from http://www.ngw.nl/ryks-en.htm [/html]
The king found himself in the stables that day, curious once more as to the attraction his followers felt towards horses. Horses continued to baffle him. They were just large, noisy deer, correct? So why was there some taboo against hunting or eating them? Before they both parted their separate ways, Firefly Sadira and Svara Thames had herded some score of wild equines into their paddock. The skittish, untamed beasts remained, grazing the overgrown grass, and occasionally snorting nervously at the tall collie-dog. He snorted in return, dark eyes narrowed skeptically. He could get his kicks elsewhere.
He strolled into the barn, inhaling the warm grassy scent of the well-tended mounts. These were the few chosen horses, the ones that his packmates had specifically trained to ride atop. Some of their names were etched into the soft wood of the stable doors, but the king could not read, and ignored the details. A loud braying caught his attention, and he turned, folded ears pricked forward.
At first he thought the mare was dying. She lay atop her distended belly in the scattered hay of the stall, dark with sweat, eyes rolling with stress. She tossed her mane with discomfort, seemingly unable to stand. Jacquez rested his arm on the stable door to watch, musing whether or not he was supposed to end her misery. It wasn't really his style. Then he realized that the suffering horse was not in fact sick, but giving birth...! The king immediately wrinkled his nose with chauvinist disgust, washed over by the scent of blood and placenta. He was glad he was never birthed in this fashion. He had simply come into existence, unlike other earthly creatures that were created in a sea of slime bursting forth from between a female's legs.
As he stared with morbid curiosity, a fluid sac emerged, tumbling onto the dusty floor. Long spindly legs kicked frantically though the liquid mess, afterbirth sloshing around the mother's hindquarters. Jacquez stared with a mixture of horror and aberration as the little foal struggled to stand for the first time, still slimy with its mother's blood and innards. Why would any female of any species want to have children? Did they know this was what it was like? Wasn't this supposed to be some sort of miracle? How absolutely repulsive!
Finally able to wrench himself away from the grisly scene, the one-armed Optime moved to leave the stables, but something butted against his hand. Frowning, the king turned to see the newborn foal, shakily reaching out for him over the stable wall. The creature's muzzle was slimy. Growling under his breath, he wiped the stickiness off onto the wall and moved to leave again. The little foal squeaked, bobbing its head as it attempted to whinny. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, petit? Ask your mother for milk if you're so-" he grumbled, and then his proud voice fell silent. He had been right the first time. The mare was dying after all. She lay prone on the stable floor, tongue lolling in the last stages of exhaustion. The foal she had birthed was left an orphan.
Jacquez unlatched the door with a claw, curious to see what the youth would do. The damp little horse took one step forward and tripped, collapsing in a tangled mess of legs. He snorted a laugh, tail waving slowly behind him. The foal huffed impatiently, staggering back up on all fours, so that it could wobble forward and butt his hand again. "What do you want from me, eh? I am a king, not a mommy-horse. The last stray I picked up was a little blind pup, and I never could get rid of her," he complained teasingly. Actually, the pathetic young thing did remind him of Ruri, in a way. It, too, was helpless without him. He did like to be relied on. "...All right. You can follow me. But if you fall behind, I'm leaving you in the paddock to be some other horse's problem," he warned, waggling his finger at the foal. She - for it was a filly - bobbed her head in agreement, squeaking a nicker. As her fur dried, he could see that she was a paint, white with splotches of chestnut all over. The collie ruffled her pricked ears, smiling indulgently. Yes, Ruri had answered the same way. "Je t'appelle... Rue. Welcome to the world, Rue." He eyed the prostrate body of Rue's mother, warmth fading from her sprawled form. He would not let the sacrifice be in vain - he would be eating well tonight.