Somehow, the stallion had made it into the Northern lands unharmed. He was born and raised in the South, and until the current times, his loathing of the North had kept him away, but rumors of green pastures, luscious valleys, sloping mountains covered in trees, food, water, had led him here. Here he was. In the place that was taboo growing up, and it was... surprisingly easy. Grinning coldly, he surveyed the meadows. It was green. So green. It almost hurt his eyeballs. The temperate breeze that blew against his large frame almost seemed cold compared to the dry heat he was used to. The scent of water was everywhere. Where he was used to the sparsity of necessities, here was an abundance of all things comfort.
Raising his large head, he scented the air. His nostrils expanded to let in all the smells. He could smell wildlife, water, the green of plants, the delicate aromas of flowers. It bombarded his senses. The one thing, he was scenting, for however, was gone. The absence of other equines surprised him. With all the tales of their hatred of the South, with his general loathing of their laziness and selfishness, he thought there would be someone to take possession of all lands in the North, everywhere. Yet there was no one. Perhaps they were gone. It was the injustice that sharpened his anger towards them. There was room to spare, yet they let other horses starve and suffer in misery.
Rising a hill, the stallion bellowed a mighty neigh, a trumpets call to any who might hear him. He had come. He would claim this land if no one stepped forth and said they had claim. If they did... well then... he would fight them. Let the cold brutality that he had worn as a shield be his armor, the bitterness at the North's want of nothing, be his sword.
As his cry faded into nothingness, he snorted. Waiting for but a few minutes, the stallion stepped down from his hill and moved towards the water. Idiots... He mused silently. If they wanted to give up their land so easily, let them. This would do for him for now. Perhaps now, he could get his revenge, and find justice for his homelands.
OOC: Claiming post Word Count: 380 Muse: 9/10 Kenren
The thick, luscious greenery gathered around the mares hooves. Everything had been calm and serene her whole life, for the North was welcoming and safe. No starvation or lack of space. Even dangerous areas were accompanied by the smell of various wild flowers, each emitting their own sickly, sweet scent. The only pain Yavi ever received was desolation. Some could argue desolation is a grave pain, but Yavi never suffered to much. For her mother betrayed the oaths of loyalty to her family and abandoned their sacred ties. Still, Yavi lived a lavish life compared to the hardships of the South.
Everything was pleasant and the world was exotic. Worry was only a small pitter patter in her brain. The world merely represented a space for expedition and to satisfy the nagging sensation of curiosity. Mentally she was sturdy and her nomadic lifestyle insured she encountered the dangers of feral predators, but she still felt secure and knew she could manage herself.
The mare reached down to graze, only to be interrupted by a powerful neigh. The sound washed over the meadow, echoing against the rugged ridges until it carried no more.
She stood, her muscle tense. It wasn’t a welcoming sound or even beautiful. It was a sound of pain and conquers. Yavi snorted bitterly, rocking her head to the sky. Hot blood coursed through her brain, sending jitters down her spine. An investigation would have to take place.
Yavi trotted swiftly - almost in an elegant manner. Her regal tail bounced behind her. She flared her nostrils, sniffing the meadow. Frequently Yavi had referred to the meadow as her home. Time and time again the mare invested herself in the unique space - lurking in every nook and cranny, discovering and relishing in the peculiar nature. She knew the meadow well, and where the sound had emerged from. Her course set directly there.
As Yavi neared the flowing water, she stopped. An abundant stallion stood, facing the opposite direction. He was quite scarred and rather intimidating. Yavi was a large mare, but he stood greatly more tremendous than herself. Despite her calm nature the mare felt bitter. Yavi stood stature, her sturdy legs easily visible. She bucked her head and snorted at the stallion. Her expressive eyes were benevolent like a liquid sun, but the suns best friend was a radiant fire.
It was after the sheer cry of his claiming call, the trumpet's roar that left his throat. He had already moved down to the flowing water, and began drinking from the cool rush of the water. Somehow it tasted more crystalline here. The bitterness that was common in the water from the South seemed gone. This water was cool, crisp, pure. Proof that this land was abundant and hospitable. As he drank long, thirsty gulps, he scented another horse nearby. She seemed lone, and held the sickly sweet scents of the North.
Lifting his thick head, he peered coldly from pale lashes. The look in his eyes was grim, cold. Before him was a dark grey mare, her countenance soft compared to horses in the south. She was unscarred, yet it seemed a threat held in her light brown eyes.
Snorting plainly in amusement, the stallion sized the mare up. She was tall, but still shorter than he. She lacked his muscular frame, and seemed as one more fit for running than fighting. Hopefully she had not come forth to fight for the land. It would be a poor battle... laughable actually...
As the soft, cool breeze tickled through his mane, and the water that dripped from his muzzle when he lifted his head from the water ceased dripping, he finally took a deep breath, preparing to speak. "A mare from this land, your scent gives you away. Have you come out of curiosity? To seek refuge? Or do you think you can stand and fight for this land that I just claimed?" Giving a single wry chuckle, he looked condescendingly down on her. Maybe if she tried anything he would try and claim her for the herd. It would be nice to have a servant. Imagine the irony. A Southern horse in Northern territory, with a local servant to tout around to piss the locals off further.
OOC: Back to being a jerk I see xD Let me know where you would like this to go. Word Count: 318 Muse: 9/10 @yavi