Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2015 4:04:18 GMT
(This is mostly just a writing exercise for me, and an explanation/event for Aryel receiving her Indian feathers. I don't expect anyone to respond/thread here, but I'm not forbidding it either)
The steppes, while cold and brutal in the winter, actually became quite habitable in the summer. Aryel was at peace for the moment, grazing and ambling along in no particular direction. She did, however, make sure to stay well away from the native village in the distance. Pointed, conical structures were the primary component of the camp, and she could see the threadlike smoke plumes from their campfires. She was too far away to hear or see anything besides that, but she could smell them on the wind: humans, near-wolves, and horses alike. But they weren't bothering her, and she was content to let them be. She could feel the ground sloping gently under her hooves, a familiar sensation in this land of softly-rolling hills and ancient glacier paths. Speaking of glaciers, sure enough, a few minutes' walk brought her to the bottom of the hill, where a small, shallow stream trickled it's way from a distant glacier. Aryel dipped her lips in and drank, savoring the deliciously cold, fresh water.
All was serene until the wind changed, blowing a previously-disguised scent right to her. There was a human nearby, and very close. Startled, Aryel jerked her head up and shied away from the stream, fearing an ambush like the last time she had encountered humans. There was very little cover out here, but she had little doubt that the strange bipeds could hide wherever they wished. But no trap was sprung, the plains remaining blissfully quiet.
Except for a small, rhythmic scratching. Now she was puzzled, rather than nervous. She swiveled her ears until she found the direction the sound was coming from, and followed it. Behind a pile of strewn boulders, she found the source. A human was sitting up against the rocks, fiddling with looked to her like a long stick tipped with a sharp-looking rock. Two hawk feathers were threaded into his black hair. He was using a smaller rock with a similar shape to chip at the one attached to the stick, sharpening it. So intent was he that it took him a moment to notice the horse. When he did, however, he jumped to his feet with a shout, leveling the strange thing at her point-first. Aryel jumped, but held her ground. This upwalker was smaller than the others, a youth maybe? His face had fewer lines, and his dark eyes were bright and alert. They faced eachother for a minute, until the boy lowered his spear, studying her.
"It's probably not worth trying to talk to you, is it?" mused the mare. "If they couldn't understand me, I doubt you can either."
The boy didn't respond to her nicker, but he did seem to relax, relieved that the strange horse wasn't aggressive. Now curious as well, he moved towards her, raising a hand to touch her. She was familiar with the gesture however, and shied away. No more ropes if she had anything to say about it. The boy stopped, pulling his hand back and looking hurt, making her feel a bit bad. There was no guile in his eyes, at least that she could see. Hoping to soothe him somewhat, she nickered again and stepped forward, this time allowing the boy to pat her neck. He seemed to notice her short mane for the first time and laughed. Aryel flicked her ears back, but tried to be tolerate. The foal probably didn't know any better.
He kept petting her, scratching her withers as well. She had a few bug bites there, and his ministrations caused her a good deal of relief. She let out a sigh of satisfaction and drooped her head, making the boy laugh again and say something in the musical, unintelligible language his kind used. She didn't notice him moving down her side, only feeling the lovely patting and scratching. Aryel knew enough to be cautious around humans, but they sure how to scratch an itch.
Suddenly, there was one hand gripping her mane, and another arm over her back. With a strength and nimbleness incongruous with his slender form, the boy vaulted himself over her, quickly righting himself so that he was sitting proudly on her back. She shied forward, utterly caught off-guard by the action, but the boy, like many of his tribe, had been riding since he could walk. He kept his balance with ease, hands holding her short mane securely but not tightly. She looked up at him, half annoyed, half curious. he abruptly tapped his heels against her sides, and she stepped forward a pace automatically. He said something in an excited tone, and kicked her again, this time a bit too hard for her liking.
That did it.
Aryel did not buck, but instead sat, plopping her hindquarters down and making the boy fall off head over heels. He tumbled to the ground, landing in a tangled heap, while the mare righted herself and pranced away, flicking her tail. She didn't bother to speak, but her body language did the job fine.
The boy scrambled to his feet, face reddening. With a shout, he stormed towards her, raising a hand once more. This time, however, she saw the tension in his muscles, the violence he intended. A wiser horse would have left then and there, but she wasn't one to be intimidated by a brat, even one holding a pointy stick. When he moved to slap her, she thrust her face into his, eyes black and hard. She dared him to hit her, the silent threat in her gaze promising to give as good as she got. The bluff worked, and the boy stopped short, then lowered his hand, eyes downcast. Aryel snorted, satisfied, then did something she would never be sure why she did: she turned her side to him and waited, looking at him expectantly. She had seen humans sitting on horses before, and while she had no intention of becoming the upwalker's permanent mount, she didn't mind humoring the boy just for now if he respected her. Besides, she was still curious about the natives, and so far this was the longest she had been around one without running away. It was exciting, in a way. What other mustang was brave enough to get so close to the upwalkers?
The boy seemed confused and surprised by her offer, but took hold of her mane again and prepared to jump up, watching her all the while for any sign of hostility. None came, and he was back on within a minute. This time, the tap to her sides was much gentler. She acquiesced, moving along at her usual amble alongside the creek. He tapped again, a little more insistently, and she figured he wanted to go faster. She broke into a smooth, swift gait, drawing a noise of surprise from the boy, who hadn't expected a wild mare to use the same Indian shuffle as the tamed horses of the native tribes. Though neither Aryel nor the boy knew it, her ancestors on her father's side had been tribe horses, an embarrassing secret jealously kept by her sire, an escapee. He shuffled, and Aryel had picked it up from him.
But now the boy was wondering what else the strange little mare could do. He leaned forward over her neck, tapping her sides twice in succession. She could feel the anticipation rolling off him, and knew that he wanted to gallop.
A devilish smile curled her lips. Fine. If he wanted to go fast, she'd go fast. Without warning, she took off, nearly toppling the boy again. He held on tight, frightened at first, but his fear quickly gave way to elation. He brandished his spear and whooped wildly as she galloped, her legs gathering in and striking out again almost too fast to see. She loved to sprint all-out like this, and it seemed her rider did too. They tore across the steppes, wind whistling in their ears, until Aryel could run no longer. She slowed gradually, flaring her nostrils and tossing her head. The boy's hair was windblown, his face flushed with exhilaration. He spoke to her again, patting her neck and lavishing upon her what the bold little mare assumed were praises to her speed and majesty.
He just might have been teasing her about being so swift despite her short legs, but Aryel chose to believe he was complimenting her.
They had ended up closer to the native village now, and when the boy dismounted, her pulled her her head forward gently, his tone now soothing and almost beseeching. He looked over at the distant teepees, then back at her, and she understood. He wanted her to come to the village with him. For a moment, she was tempted. It would be an adventure unlike any other. But she valued her freedom too much, and knew as fun as the boy was, she would not be allowed to roam as she was now. "Sorry," she said quietly, pulling free of his hands and backing away. "I don't think that's the life for me." He wouldn't understand her, she knew that, but he seemed to get the message. He looked sad, and Aryel almost changed her mind. It was only the memory of ropes stinging her neck that kept her from following him back. The boy furrowed his brow for a moment, pondering, then removed the feathers from his hair. With deft fingers, he worked them into her mane just behind her ears, then stepped away to admire his handiwork. A gift.
Touched, Aryel stepped forward to nuzzle him, drawing a giggle from the boy. He gave her a final scratch, then turned and began to walk in the direction of the village. Aryel watched his retreating form for a while, then turned and went her own way, back into the wild.
-exit Aryel unless she encounters another horse-
The steppes, while cold and brutal in the winter, actually became quite habitable in the summer. Aryel was at peace for the moment, grazing and ambling along in no particular direction. She did, however, make sure to stay well away from the native village in the distance. Pointed, conical structures were the primary component of the camp, and she could see the threadlike smoke plumes from their campfires. She was too far away to hear or see anything besides that, but she could smell them on the wind: humans, near-wolves, and horses alike. But they weren't bothering her, and she was content to let them be. She could feel the ground sloping gently under her hooves, a familiar sensation in this land of softly-rolling hills and ancient glacier paths. Speaking of glaciers, sure enough, a few minutes' walk brought her to the bottom of the hill, where a small, shallow stream trickled it's way from a distant glacier. Aryel dipped her lips in and drank, savoring the deliciously cold, fresh water.
All was serene until the wind changed, blowing a previously-disguised scent right to her. There was a human nearby, and very close. Startled, Aryel jerked her head up and shied away from the stream, fearing an ambush like the last time she had encountered humans. There was very little cover out here, but she had little doubt that the strange bipeds could hide wherever they wished. But no trap was sprung, the plains remaining blissfully quiet.
Except for a small, rhythmic scratching. Now she was puzzled, rather than nervous. She swiveled her ears until she found the direction the sound was coming from, and followed it. Behind a pile of strewn boulders, she found the source. A human was sitting up against the rocks, fiddling with looked to her like a long stick tipped with a sharp-looking rock. Two hawk feathers were threaded into his black hair. He was using a smaller rock with a similar shape to chip at the one attached to the stick, sharpening it. So intent was he that it took him a moment to notice the horse. When he did, however, he jumped to his feet with a shout, leveling the strange thing at her point-first. Aryel jumped, but held her ground. This upwalker was smaller than the others, a youth maybe? His face had fewer lines, and his dark eyes were bright and alert. They faced eachother for a minute, until the boy lowered his spear, studying her.
"It's probably not worth trying to talk to you, is it?" mused the mare. "If they couldn't understand me, I doubt you can either."
The boy didn't respond to her nicker, but he did seem to relax, relieved that the strange horse wasn't aggressive. Now curious as well, he moved towards her, raising a hand to touch her. She was familiar with the gesture however, and shied away. No more ropes if she had anything to say about it. The boy stopped, pulling his hand back and looking hurt, making her feel a bit bad. There was no guile in his eyes, at least that she could see. Hoping to soothe him somewhat, she nickered again and stepped forward, this time allowing the boy to pat her neck. He seemed to notice her short mane for the first time and laughed. Aryel flicked her ears back, but tried to be tolerate. The foal probably didn't know any better.
He kept petting her, scratching her withers as well. She had a few bug bites there, and his ministrations caused her a good deal of relief. She let out a sigh of satisfaction and drooped her head, making the boy laugh again and say something in the musical, unintelligible language his kind used. She didn't notice him moving down her side, only feeling the lovely patting and scratching. Aryel knew enough to be cautious around humans, but they sure how to scratch an itch.
Suddenly, there was one hand gripping her mane, and another arm over her back. With a strength and nimbleness incongruous with his slender form, the boy vaulted himself over her, quickly righting himself so that he was sitting proudly on her back. She shied forward, utterly caught off-guard by the action, but the boy, like many of his tribe, had been riding since he could walk. He kept his balance with ease, hands holding her short mane securely but not tightly. She looked up at him, half annoyed, half curious. he abruptly tapped his heels against her sides, and she stepped forward a pace automatically. He said something in an excited tone, and kicked her again, this time a bit too hard for her liking.
That did it.
Aryel did not buck, but instead sat, plopping her hindquarters down and making the boy fall off head over heels. He tumbled to the ground, landing in a tangled heap, while the mare righted herself and pranced away, flicking her tail. She didn't bother to speak, but her body language did the job fine.
The boy scrambled to his feet, face reddening. With a shout, he stormed towards her, raising a hand once more. This time, however, she saw the tension in his muscles, the violence he intended. A wiser horse would have left then and there, but she wasn't one to be intimidated by a brat, even one holding a pointy stick. When he moved to slap her, she thrust her face into his, eyes black and hard. She dared him to hit her, the silent threat in her gaze promising to give as good as she got. The bluff worked, and the boy stopped short, then lowered his hand, eyes downcast. Aryel snorted, satisfied, then did something she would never be sure why she did: she turned her side to him and waited, looking at him expectantly. She had seen humans sitting on horses before, and while she had no intention of becoming the upwalker's permanent mount, she didn't mind humoring the boy just for now if he respected her. Besides, she was still curious about the natives, and so far this was the longest she had been around one without running away. It was exciting, in a way. What other mustang was brave enough to get so close to the upwalkers?
The boy seemed confused and surprised by her offer, but took hold of her mane again and prepared to jump up, watching her all the while for any sign of hostility. None came, and he was back on within a minute. This time, the tap to her sides was much gentler. She acquiesced, moving along at her usual amble alongside the creek. He tapped again, a little more insistently, and she figured he wanted to go faster. She broke into a smooth, swift gait, drawing a noise of surprise from the boy, who hadn't expected a wild mare to use the same Indian shuffle as the tamed horses of the native tribes. Though neither Aryel nor the boy knew it, her ancestors on her father's side had been tribe horses, an embarrassing secret jealously kept by her sire, an escapee. He shuffled, and Aryel had picked it up from him.
But now the boy was wondering what else the strange little mare could do. He leaned forward over her neck, tapping her sides twice in succession. She could feel the anticipation rolling off him, and knew that he wanted to gallop.
A devilish smile curled her lips. Fine. If he wanted to go fast, she'd go fast. Without warning, she took off, nearly toppling the boy again. He held on tight, frightened at first, but his fear quickly gave way to elation. He brandished his spear and whooped wildly as she galloped, her legs gathering in and striking out again almost too fast to see. She loved to sprint all-out like this, and it seemed her rider did too. They tore across the steppes, wind whistling in their ears, until Aryel could run no longer. She slowed gradually, flaring her nostrils and tossing her head. The boy's hair was windblown, his face flushed with exhilaration. He spoke to her again, patting her neck and lavishing upon her what the bold little mare assumed were praises to her speed and majesty.
He just might have been teasing her about being so swift despite her short legs, but Aryel chose to believe he was complimenting her.
They had ended up closer to the native village now, and when the boy dismounted, her pulled her her head forward gently, his tone now soothing and almost beseeching. He looked over at the distant teepees, then back at her, and she understood. He wanted her to come to the village with him. For a moment, she was tempted. It would be an adventure unlike any other. But she valued her freedom too much, and knew as fun as the boy was, she would not be allowed to roam as she was now. "Sorry," she said quietly, pulling free of his hands and backing away. "I don't think that's the life for me." He wouldn't understand her, she knew that, but he seemed to get the message. He looked sad, and Aryel almost changed her mind. It was only the memory of ropes stinging her neck that kept her from following him back. The boy furrowed his brow for a moment, pondering, then removed the feathers from his hair. With deft fingers, he worked them into her mane just behind her ears, then stepped away to admire his handiwork. A gift.
Touched, Aryel stepped forward to nuzzle him, drawing a giggle from the boy. He gave her a final scratch, then turned and began to walk in the direction of the village. Aryel watched his retreating form for a while, then turned and went her own way, back into the wild.
-exit Aryel unless she encounters another horse-