Purple teardrops I cry (Open)

[ɐpʎʞ]

She walks alone. A tall black mare of racing blood her coat shining like a mirror in the sun, her long legs striding over the land each grace filled steps, her smokey eyes speak of hidden lies. Yet she is not a brooding killer as she may seem to the onlooker, there is a certain innocence found her gaze. She stops to admire a butterfly before smiling and walking to a clear spot where she dips down her head to start grazing. Unmarked hide appearing to be just groomed by this is only because if is of a sleeker type then most breeds, her pedigree is of racing thoroughbreds that dominate the track. She idly thinks back to her days as a race mare winning ribbons and being shot full of steroids, so different then where she is today. She loves this freedom, this fresh air that greets her, the knowledge of never having to wear a bridal or saddle ever again making her giddy. Freedom is a lovely thing.

She grazes quietly, long black tail swishing every so often to chase away flies that buzz around her pretty body.

‘Its quiet today.’ The lady idly thinks to herself.



Appalachian
I'm your biggest fan
I'll follow you until you love me

[ÐяÈàMBïĞ]

Ivory and flame hued stallion walked solemnly across the large clearing. His mood far from depressed, but not giddy in the least. His moods seemed to be having a slo tennis match today, as they did many other days. One in which no one was sure who would simplily due to boredom, and the continous movement of the head in the simple side-to-side manuver.

Nonetheless, he was still unsure of what he could really do here. It didn't seem as through there here. He had recently claimed a land, Artiest Terra, as he called it. In a nut-shell, it simply meant 'The Land Of The Artists'. But the setting was simply beyond description.

Aqua gaze lifted up slightly, and moved back down quickly. Only realizing after a few moments that there had been a beautiful black damsel standing alone. Looking up again, he was taken aback by her beauty. Her pelt hadn't a single marking on it, and it shone in the summer sunshine.

"Hello there," he stated as he walked up to her "I go by Altair, and what 'tis your name miss?"

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[ɐpʎʞ]

She tilts her head to the side, letting her long mane fall off to sway in the wind. Another horse approaches her but what do horses do when meeting other horses? Living her life in a box stall she never had the chance to get to know another equine in the friendly bases. She settles for softly neighing as she would if she were in a pasture and had smelled the stallion.

“My name is Appalachian, sir Altair.” She bows her neck to him, batting her eyes in virgin innocence. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Her brown eyes glitter as they look over the pinto stallion, such a fuine stud he sitrrs inner instincts inside of her.