Post by Xenan on Nov 7, 2011 16:57:28 GMT -5
//The Four
The days had grown warmer as summer finally set in. Presently, the sun was high in the sky, already at its peak, and the only thing just barely staving off the heat was an occasional breeze. From the northeastern horizon, four handsome and refined hotblooded horses could be seen entering the lands, seemingly side-by-side from far away. Up closer, one would see that the group was being lead by a tall bay brute, his pelt carrying a lovely sheen and decorated with intricate white, lightning-strike, patches over his body and even streaked through his otherwise black hair that flowed in lush long waves. He was the tallest of the group, and even from far off one could easily decipher that he was a proud sort and used to always getting his way. With his head and dock held high, he led the group by just a few paces. At his right flank, a dark buckskin tobiano stallion walked with a certain bounce in his step, arched neck positioned almost ninety degrees to his withers although his head was tucked inward. He was nearly equally as proud as his twin brother whom led the herd, but was ever-respectful of the hierarchy. To the bay’s left flank, and a little further back, was a flashy red roan tobiano. This stallion carried himself with just as much majesty as the other two brutes, though he was much more loose and free with the way he almost pranced with his chin tucked to his chest. His long, red tail was nearly always lifted at the dock, which reflected his bold personality. To this stallion’s left was the only female of the four, and she carried herself always in a way of showing that she would never fall subject to the level of testosterone in the bunch. Much like the stallion that led the group, she was tall even if she was the shortest among them, and walked with her head high and proud, though her body was far sleeker and more refined than either of the males. Her pelt was that of a light buckskin splash tovero, and while her brothers all had dark or brown eyes, she was the only that bore blue.
The four had been traveling for what had been going on days, not stopping long enough to really rest at all, and tensions were growing high. Zarek and Tariq, the older set of twins by a year, had the discipline and stamina to go on for much longer. However, Mazurik and Xariah, while fully capable of the same feat, were not accustomed to having to move so much in such a short period of time. Where their trek had began, back at the far Northwestern Mountains, far beyond the borders of the lands they would soon be calling home, was the very place that each of them had been born and raised. Leaving had been a unified idea, though brought to reality by the very bay tobiano brute that led them now. The idea had been to travel and spread the word of a dying breed, to try and save their beliefs before they would be trampled into the ground. They had been made a minority, and this could not be allowed to continue. They were Purebloods, never to cross the lines with another breed of their species for fear that they would be charged by the Great Ones with contamination and tarnishing the name of the Ancients. Even association with Mutts could mean damnation in the afterlife. The four weren’t exactly sure what it was that lay in wait for them after death, but fear of not seeing the Paradise promised along the lines, going back generation after generation, was enough to keep them from straying. However, much to their amazement, they discovered along their travels that so few remained who were Pure, and so they moved on, furthering their quest to find a new land where they could start anew. Where exactly their destination lay, they were not yet certain, though they would follow Zarek and his instincts until death. Always the wisest, always the role-model, the one to look up to, the one who carried responsibility as though it were no heavy burden at all. Still, they were tired and thirsty, and muscles were stiffening.
”Qua es nos iens?” (Where are we going?) Maz’s tone was strained by exhaustion as he spoke in their native tongue, his normally happy-go-lucky attitude replaced by tiredness that left him grumpy.
Zarek barely turned his head, not bothering to look back at his youngest brother. His tone when he replied, was stern and even slightly annoyed.
”Ut civitas, ego mos teneo ut nos supervenio.” (As I have said, I will know when we arrive.)
Huffing in his own annoyance, Mazurik replied simply, but in a softer tone. He knew he was trying his brother’s patience. ”Ut est non quis ego vilis Zar.” (That is not what I meant, Zar.)
This time, Zarek did turn his head to glare back at the younger brute, though he didn’t break his stride. “Tunc quis est is ut vos vilis??” (Then what did you mean?) The look on the stallion’s face brought the younger male instantly into defensive mode, but before Mazurik could utter a retort, Xariah cleared her throat and intervened. Such was the way it went most times.
“Ego puto es simplex vilis sciscitor ut nos es sumo fragmen. Is est fervens, quod nos es siccus. Nos have ingredior pro dies.” (I believe he simply meant to ask when we are to take a break. It is hot, and we are thirsty. We have been walking for days.) Her tone was as sweet and soft as she could make it, knowing that any firmer tone would only serve to stir the pot. Only, it didn’t quite work the way she’d have liked.
Zarek halted suddenly, half-turning his body to glare at her. Which, of course, had everyone else stopping as well. He’d had enough of the complaints. Or at least what he took as complaints. “Ignosco, parum sanctimonialis, tamen quisnam est plumbum?” (Pardon, little sister, but who is leading?) His tone was sharp, and his disapproval clear. He didn’t much favor being questioned like this.
Trying only to calm him, not stir things up anymore than was necessary, the pale-coated mare spoke softly, ducking her head no matter how degrading she thought it was. “Vos es, nimirum.” (You are, of course..) And just as it began to look like her eldest brother would reprimand her further, she lifted her head and braced for it.
Fortunately, Tariq chose that moment to speak up. “Zar.. forsitan is est optimus ut nos sileo. Estus est questus nobis totus.” (Zar.. perhaps they are right. The heat is getting to us all.)
This always seemed to be the way things went. Mazurik was the trouble-maker. Xariah, the peace-keeper. Tariq the second-in-command and advisor. And Zarek, their leader. When no one else could get through to their eldest kin, it always seemed to be Tariq that calmed him. “Teres. Nos mos subsisto ut nos reperio unda. Ego nidor is. Is est prope.” (Fine. We will stop when we find water. I smell it. It is not far.) And with that he turned and resumed onward in the direction he had indeed smelled water. Perhaps he was pushing them too hard, afterall. And perhaps the heat really was getting to him and making him more short-tempered than he usually tended to be. Not that he would apologize for it, only give to them what was best for them.
Finally reaching a watering hole, the group seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief, gathering around it and each taking their fill. ”We will rest here for the remainder of the day until the sun falls to the west. So take the time to eat now.” Zarek told them in accented English after he had quenched his thirst. His tone now was tired and devoid of his earlier agitation, though no less authoritative. He sighed as he parted with them for the moment, choosing his own patch of fresh, green grass. They each dispersed to do the same, though not stepping too far away. Maz plopped dramatically to the ground when he claimed his own bit of grass to munch on, earning an eye-roll from his twin sister who settled closest to him. Tariq went to lean against a tree, munching on a few of the plants at its base. And all seemed quiet for the time being.
OOC: Not completely happy with this, but meh.
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The days had grown warmer as summer finally set in. Presently, the sun was high in the sky, already at its peak, and the only thing just barely staving off the heat was an occasional breeze. From the northeastern horizon, four handsome and refined hotblooded horses could be seen entering the lands, seemingly side-by-side from far away. Up closer, one would see that the group was being lead by a tall bay brute, his pelt carrying a lovely sheen and decorated with intricate white, lightning-strike, patches over his body and even streaked through his otherwise black hair that flowed in lush long waves. He was the tallest of the group, and even from far off one could easily decipher that he was a proud sort and used to always getting his way. With his head and dock held high, he led the group by just a few paces. At his right flank, a dark buckskin tobiano stallion walked with a certain bounce in his step, arched neck positioned almost ninety degrees to his withers although his head was tucked inward. He was nearly equally as proud as his twin brother whom led the herd, but was ever-respectful of the hierarchy. To the bay’s left flank, and a little further back, was a flashy red roan tobiano. This stallion carried himself with just as much majesty as the other two brutes, though he was much more loose and free with the way he almost pranced with his chin tucked to his chest. His long, red tail was nearly always lifted at the dock, which reflected his bold personality. To this stallion’s left was the only female of the four, and she carried herself always in a way of showing that she would never fall subject to the level of testosterone in the bunch. Much like the stallion that led the group, she was tall even if she was the shortest among them, and walked with her head high and proud, though her body was far sleeker and more refined than either of the males. Her pelt was that of a light buckskin splash tovero, and while her brothers all had dark or brown eyes, she was the only that bore blue.
The four had been traveling for what had been going on days, not stopping long enough to really rest at all, and tensions were growing high. Zarek and Tariq, the older set of twins by a year, had the discipline and stamina to go on for much longer. However, Mazurik and Xariah, while fully capable of the same feat, were not accustomed to having to move so much in such a short period of time. Where their trek had began, back at the far Northwestern Mountains, far beyond the borders of the lands they would soon be calling home, was the very place that each of them had been born and raised. Leaving had been a unified idea, though brought to reality by the very bay tobiano brute that led them now. The idea had been to travel and spread the word of a dying breed, to try and save their beliefs before they would be trampled into the ground. They had been made a minority, and this could not be allowed to continue. They were Purebloods, never to cross the lines with another breed of their species for fear that they would be charged by the Great Ones with contamination and tarnishing the name of the Ancients. Even association with Mutts could mean damnation in the afterlife. The four weren’t exactly sure what it was that lay in wait for them after death, but fear of not seeing the Paradise promised along the lines, going back generation after generation, was enough to keep them from straying. However, much to their amazement, they discovered along their travels that so few remained who were Pure, and so they moved on, furthering their quest to find a new land where they could start anew. Where exactly their destination lay, they were not yet certain, though they would follow Zarek and his instincts until death. Always the wisest, always the role-model, the one to look up to, the one who carried responsibility as though it were no heavy burden at all. Still, they were tired and thirsty, and muscles were stiffening.
”Qua es nos iens?” (Where are we going?) Maz’s tone was strained by exhaustion as he spoke in their native tongue, his normally happy-go-lucky attitude replaced by tiredness that left him grumpy.
Zarek barely turned his head, not bothering to look back at his youngest brother. His tone when he replied, was stern and even slightly annoyed.
”Ut civitas, ego mos teneo ut nos supervenio.” (As I have said, I will know when we arrive.)
Huffing in his own annoyance, Mazurik replied simply, but in a softer tone. He knew he was trying his brother’s patience. ”Ut est non quis ego vilis Zar.” (That is not what I meant, Zar.)
This time, Zarek did turn his head to glare back at the younger brute, though he didn’t break his stride. “Tunc quis est is ut vos vilis??” (Then what did you mean?) The look on the stallion’s face brought the younger male instantly into defensive mode, but before Mazurik could utter a retort, Xariah cleared her throat and intervened. Such was the way it went most times.
“Ego puto es simplex vilis sciscitor ut nos es sumo fragmen. Is est fervens, quod nos es siccus. Nos have ingredior pro dies.” (I believe he simply meant to ask when we are to take a break. It is hot, and we are thirsty. We have been walking for days.) Her tone was as sweet and soft as she could make it, knowing that any firmer tone would only serve to stir the pot. Only, it didn’t quite work the way she’d have liked.
Zarek halted suddenly, half-turning his body to glare at her. Which, of course, had everyone else stopping as well. He’d had enough of the complaints. Or at least what he took as complaints. “Ignosco, parum sanctimonialis, tamen quisnam est plumbum?” (Pardon, little sister, but who is leading?) His tone was sharp, and his disapproval clear. He didn’t much favor being questioned like this.
Trying only to calm him, not stir things up anymore than was necessary, the pale-coated mare spoke softly, ducking her head no matter how degrading she thought it was. “Vos es, nimirum.” (You are, of course..) And just as it began to look like her eldest brother would reprimand her further, she lifted her head and braced for it.
Fortunately, Tariq chose that moment to speak up. “Zar.. forsitan is est optimus ut nos sileo. Estus est questus nobis totus.” (Zar.. perhaps they are right. The heat is getting to us all.)
This always seemed to be the way things went. Mazurik was the trouble-maker. Xariah, the peace-keeper. Tariq the second-in-command and advisor. And Zarek, their leader. When no one else could get through to their eldest kin, it always seemed to be Tariq that calmed him. “Teres. Nos mos subsisto ut nos reperio unda. Ego nidor is. Is est prope.” (Fine. We will stop when we find water. I smell it. It is not far.) And with that he turned and resumed onward in the direction he had indeed smelled water. Perhaps he was pushing them too hard, afterall. And perhaps the heat really was getting to him and making him more short-tempered than he usually tended to be. Not that he would apologize for it, only give to them what was best for them.
Finally reaching a watering hole, the group seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief, gathering around it and each taking their fill. ”We will rest here for the remainder of the day until the sun falls to the west. So take the time to eat now.” Zarek told them in accented English after he had quenched his thirst. His tone now was tired and devoid of his earlier agitation, though no less authoritative. He sighed as he parted with them for the moment, choosing his own patch of fresh, green grass. They each dispersed to do the same, though not stepping too far away. Maz plopped dramatically to the ground when he claimed his own bit of grass to munch on, earning an eye-roll from his twin sister who settled closest to him. Tariq went to lean against a tree, munching on a few of the plants at its base. And all seemed quiet for the time being.
OOC: Not completely happy with this, but meh.
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