Every spring and fall, Ruby underwent a physical transformation. As the days grew longer and warmer, she began to shed her burgundy winter coat. Beneath it, she was a ghostly dappled silver that contrasted sharply with the red barring on her legs and the stripe down the center of her back, making the primitive markings more clearly defined and striking to behold. The change was so dramatic that some failed to recognize her as the same horse, and a few regarded her warily as she picked her way through the free lands. There was a deerlike quality to her movements, a fluidity that nearly caused her to meld seamlessly with the landscape, especially when she paused amidst the trees to study her surroundings. Each hoof placement was deliberate and light, nearly soundless, and the shallow impressions she left behind in the soft soil were barely discernable amongst the new spring foliage.

Ruby had become a sort of fabled character. Some referred to her as the Swamp Witch, and she had made no effort to dispel any of the fanciful tales in which her epithet was uttered. She certainly looked the part, with her forelock falling past the end of her muzzle, and her thick mane hanging nearly to her elbows. While the other drought survivors had assimilated into herds beyond the quag, Ruby had remained alone. But it had now been nearly two years since the drought, and she would soon be a five-year-old with no herd and no offspring. This thought nagged at her as she spied a palomino mare off in the distance. Two diminutive foals, no more than a few days old, were trailing the mare. Live twins were unusual in horses, and Ruby gave the trio a wide berth so as to avoid a confrontation with the unknown mare.

The Oxwater Wood was a prime location for herdless horses, particularly unclaimed mares, and perhaps knowledge of this subconsciously drew her. Within Oxwater Wood, Ruby knew that Boltara Grove was likely to be the most sparsely populated, so this was her destination for the day. At this time of year, the trees were not burdened with any fruit, and as such were of little interest to horses. Beneath their gnarled limbs, Ruby found tender young plants poking through the brittle underbrush of yesteryear, which she delicately plucked with velvet lips, her curved ears independently flicking in the direction of any novel sound. She was like an apparition, threading her way through the dense trunks in search of the tastiest plants. Her presence flushed a rabbit from its hiding place, and it departed noisily, drawing a slight look of annoyance from the silver and red mare.

centurion

All had been quiet in the past year since Centurion had found this land and settled in Redgrave Canyon. Summer was again setting upon the land and the dark bay stallion relished in the coming heat. Having survived the winter in solitude, he had waited out the following spring, taking the extra months to graze and replenish the fat stores that had been lost during the cold months. Now a healthy weight, his near black coat glowing with a dazzling sheen in the sunlight, the stallion found himself straying from the place he called home. Not for any particular reason he supposed, as he was perfectly content spending his days maintaining his borders and keeping to himself. Today however, he wandered.

Nearing the Oxwater Wood, part of the Freelands that bordered the territories of the different herds, Centurion paused and lifted his nostrils to the wind. The sharp tang of a passing band of bachelors caught his attention and he snorted, in no mood to deal with any of their sort today. Fortunately, it seemed they were nowhere near and so he pressed onward deeper into the wood. For a moment, he wondered what exactly it was he was hoping to accomplish by venturing into the Freelands. Perhaps he meant to finally meet another horse. Or maybe he was just going to stretch his legs, familiarize himself with the surrounding areas and return home.

He hadn't left his lands in a year, avoiding all contact with other horses. It suited him of course. There were far less...complications when he only had himself to answer for but lately it had been incredibly boring. No one to boss around, no mares to prance with under the stars. No friends with which he could spar or enemies he could annihilate beneath hoof and teeth. It wasn't lonely he convinced himself, never one to admit that he might actually miss the company of another horse, but maybe today he could find at least that much.

Pressing on, he came upon a grove of fruit trees large and small. Their sweet scent filled his flared nostrils and he felt himself salivate. Such delicacies weren't present in the drier climate of the canyon. Small pillars of light broke through the summer leaves, creating a speckled pattern across the ground. Between a few thick trunks, Centurion caught the sight of a silver creature. He inhaled deeply, catching just enough of the scent to know what it was. A mare. He moved slightly, the sparse grass underfoot rustling faintly. His dark coat stood out in stark contrast to the lush green of the grove and he knew there was no point trying to sneak up on her. Instead, he moved until he was in her line of sight and nickered lowly.

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words;; 463
tags;; ruby
notes;; none

It was unusual for the silvery mare to be caught unawares. But the frightened rabbit had successfully captured her attention just long enough for the dark stallion to approach unnoticed. As his nicker reached her ears, her head reflexively snaked in his direction, neck arching, ears pinning, and tail flagging as her golden eyes sought the origin of the unfamiliar voice. She appraised the stranger quickly; he was possibly the deepest shade of bay she had ever seen, with a richness and depth that relayed his healthfulness. Not all had escaped the recent cold weather in such condition. She surmised he may be mistaken for black in the heart of winter or within the embrace of a heavy rain. The only contrast was a small amount of white on his lips and a curious scar across his neck, the latter of which she filed away in her memory for later. They were of similar height and build, with the stallion being a touch taller and larger. As her gaze finished its sweep of his form, she relaxed visibly. It was evident by his direct body language and his salutational vocalization that his intent was at least not furtiveness.

"State your business stranger," she said, the dulcet notes of her voice somehow making the words less offensive and commanding than they might have been if spoken by another. Yet behind the sweetly uttered words was a measured confidence that was unmistakable. Her tail lowered gradually until it rested upon her muscular hindquarters, the ends reaching past her fetlocks. It was reminiscent of a crimson waterfall as it cascaded down the curve of her buttocks to hang between her strong, straight hind legs. At last, her ears un-plastered themselves from her skull and flicked toward the stranger, betraying that she was not totally resistant to his presence, although she did her best to quell her curiosity and not come across as too interested. A soft breeze stirred through the trees, like unseen fingers tousling her long mane, and even as her forelock partially obscured her vision, her intense amber gaze remained fixed upon the dark stranger.