Pepper winds.

[voodoo]

<sup>Flicka snorted as she frolicked into the unfamiliar soil her pools unsecure and not scaning for any type of presents. She snorted she was only two and a half and was just like a yearling.
Audettes shifted with ease as she listened to her Rocks hitting the earth. The wind blew her short bark mane through the air.
Her tail was araise as she fluttered a soft canter. Her aroma was thin in the air.
Pepper slowed To a walk then halted as she stared on at the greens. She flicked her head swiftly and snorted...

. . . w a i t i n g</sup>

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[r.andom]

[ f o r g o t t e n ]

Passion is his, as is lust and other small feelings of curiosity and hate, desire and wonderment, and he watches this daily routine of life and limb, survival of the fittest with a dark eye and a sceptical mind, for he has no want to be what they do, he has no want to be labelled as different for he sees nought wrong with the typecast world. He has shaped the mould and they have come out of it and reformed themselves – and Forgotten cares not for such strange talents and fetishes to be different. The white stallion is in no way elaborate in his manner – he is rough and unrushed in actions and words, and they will get used to it or simply hate him for it.

He watches her out of the shadows, out of the trees dehydrated and sorely water deprived, and he sees the black’s beauteous and exertions with some form of amusement although the white stallion remains aloof and uncaring as of yet as he observes her with cold, beetle-black eyes filled with no emotion save that lingering curiosity. The trees sway in time as he moves; a gliding step filled once more with malice and deceit as he breaks his cover and heads toward her, snorting quietly as he draws up near and nips her flanks. ”Why, Hello poppet.” he pauses ”Your name…?” and he smirks, lips more tracing the line of her back as he awaits a reply.