I can't think of a title [Merrick]

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The pounding of feet on sand and rock had long since died away, but the canyon still seemed to hold it's breath. After some time, a dark head, ears erect, poked it's cautious way out of a thicket of briars and tumbleweeds, where she had been hiding, holding still as stone. Aryel had been exploring the canyon, and stopped to drink at a spring. That had proven to be the wrong choice to make, for behind the nearby boulders and brush had lurked a group of upwalkers, ropes in hand. They had been on the search for wild horses to replenish their own herd, and it happened to be pure dumb luck that the scruffy grulla mare had wandered into their ambush. Silent as coyotes on the prowl, they had surrounded the oblivious horse, cutting off any escape. When she finally caught their scent, it was too late. There was a rope around her neck before she could so much as blink, with more on the way.

It had been pure reactionary panic that had saved Aryel from captivity. She charged the first rope-thrower, startling him into loosening his grip on the rope, then suddenly turned on a dime and ran the other way, yanking it from his hands. Thrown hooves and more mock-charges had prevented the others from getting too close, and when she saw the tiniest opening between two of them, she took it, bolting through and knocking them to the side. They had attempted to give chase, but it was difficult to follow someone through the twisting canyon, and when she took refuge in a clump of scrub, they had gone right past her. Still, she had waited for a good while before daring to emerge again, her heart still fluttering in her chest. The next time she observed a group of natives, she would make sure to do it from a distance.

As she stepped out of the brambles, a yank on her neck brought her to a sudden stop. Confused, she looked over her shoulder to see the lasso's end tangled in the foliage. With an irritated snort, she bucked and pulled, attempting to dislodge it, but the tough old roots refused to release their hold on the earth. What's more, the more she pulled, the tighter the lasso grew, until she had to force herself to stop lest she strangle herself. Aryel glared balefully at the rope, then took it in her teeth and attempted to gnaw it in half, but all she got for her troubles was a sore jaw. Unbelievably frustrated (and perhaps a bit worried), she gave voice to her emotions in the eloquent way only she could.

"THIS SUCKS!"

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merrick

To be young and fit meant the stallion was easily stricken by wanderlust. An invisible string tied to his heart, tugging this way and that--he was a leaf in the wind, some happenstance subtle or not shifting his sails. Perhaps the raven's croak compelled him east one morning. Or the sight of elk cows crowded around minted calves, alert, watching him curiously with shiny black eyes, might send him north. Influenced, yet nothing came about to sever the lure. Nothing to keep him grounded.

Whatever road he allowed himself, it takes him far into a world cracked and sandy, where lush trees and jade-green grasses eventually give way to rough shrub and craggy weather-beaten foothills. The shift of scenery pleases the nomad in him, his whim now guiding him toward the canyon. It takes almost half the day to scout the area and discover an entrance--a wide tunnel snakes down and opens to a small half-moon cave, the walls an eerily smooth peach-colored sandstone striped with a millennium's worth of layering. Wind whistles through, sweet and chiming like little sleigh bells. The floor is sand of a similar shade--his hooves sink down, leaving behind deep grooves of plodding tracks. He nearly blends in, as fiery red as he is.

Other than small life --countless sparrows and chickadee, several colorful lizards darting in front of his path, two big majestic hawks roosting on cacti-- and one donkey herd four members total, all irrelevant in his mind, he met none of his own like on the journey through the harsh land of desert. Here in particular is still and seemingly devoid, so when the sound of violent commotion carries into the cave from its open backend, he takes his time to scent the dry air, nostrils flaring, mind filtering, his long curved ears pricked high. A coppery sweaty musk is noted that brings forth sour memories, alongside the homey spice of a mare; a feral anger suddenly scorches his blood, conflicting with the profound wisdom of extreme caution. 

He was intensely sure of himself, in large part credited to his control over his impulses--prudence claims victory here, but its tailed closely by curiosity and aggression. More stealthily he slinks forward, pausing at the threshold between canyon and grotto to suss out the scenario. Immediately, he spots her, struggling and stressed, her pretty and graceful neck bound tightly, rope digging into her flesh with what surely must be as irritating as it was suffocating. An entirely wicked thought can't help but cross his mind at the sight of her vulnerability, even as it's held at bay when he picks up distant, troublesome voices. Trotting over to her, he only gives her the span of a blink to react to his presence before he moves in; whether or not on purpose he crowds her, towering over by more than two hands, while still managing to keep space for his ministrations. Blunt teeth grip the tether; in moments he works it apart. "I'll take the rest off later. You'll come with me, lass." His baritone voice brook no argument, but it's silky with notes of dark rumbling brogue. He even goes so far as to turn away from her and begin heading back the original way, expecting compliance as natural as the change of seasons.

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Aryel tried pulling against the rope a few more times, but gave up when it began to restrict her breathing. Great. Just great. What was she going to do now? She looked up at the sky, so far away compared to the canyon walls, and squinted against the harsh sunlight. If she couldn't free herself, she was going to be in a lot of trouble very quickly. If the heat didn't kill her, a wandering predator would. Distant noises made her prick up her ears, her blood going cold. Or, the twolegs would hear her shouting and find her again.

Suddenly, from the shadows of a nearby pass came a large chestnut stallion, drawing up into her personal space without so much as a greeting. "Hey!" she squawked irately, attempting to back away from him. Unfortunately, the rope prevented her from going far, nevertheless, she laid-back her ears and glared, ready to bite or kick if he tried anything. He ignored the threats her posture conveyed, turning his attention towards the rope where it was tangled in the bushes. He worked it with his teeth for a few moments, then Aryel felt the pressure on her windpipe ease as the rope finally came free. She reared and moved away from stallion and shrubs, tossing her head to work the stiffness out of her neck. It felt good to be free again.

Her hostility had dissipated somewhat, and she looked back at the stallion, intending to thank him, only to see him moving away with an order to follow.

And, just like that, the hostility was back.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, remaining where she was. "Helping me out is one thing, but that doesn't give you the right to boss me around." She arched her neck, her gaze carrying a challenge. "Just who do you think you are?" The voices of the two-legged creatures came away, this time from much closer. She glanced worriedly in the direction they had gone, her bravado deflating considerably. Black eyes shifted from the canyon pass, to Merrick, back to the pass, and finally to Merrick again as she weighed her options. With a grumble, she broke into a trot to catch up with the stallion. "Fine." she scowled, coming up beside him. "But as soon as we lose them, I expect you to at least introduce yourself."

@miya