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crimson1.jpg

crimson.jpg

He was old now. There was a time when he could have gone all day without food, water or rest. But those times were gone, passing like each season turned into the next.

There'd been a time where he'd herded cattle from one end of the country to the other, but those times were even further past, fuzzy, like a bad picture. Yes, he'd been domesticated... but that didn't make him less wild now. (c)
 
He was seventeen (or was it eighteen?) and his bones seemed to creak with every step. His red roan coat, once magnificent, was now a dulled rust color. Scars and brandings were commonplace. His black mane and tail were tangled and cut jaggedly short.
He might be a mustang, or perhaps a quarter-horse as his muscular hindquarters led one to believe. It really didn't matter anymore. (c)
 
A chiseled head was more chestnut than roan and offset by dark brown eyes. His pillared legs faded into black by the time they were midway down, leaving him with large black stockings.

Now, he thought, about that food, water and most importantly, rest. Sensitive ears had detected a meandering stream, set aside from his taken path. With sore limbs, he trotted to its banks, thankfully. (c
 
Now, where was he again? Ah, cattle herding. He'd been used for cattle herding since he was old enough to remember. Not that it was a bad occupation, he supposed. But not nearly as magnificent as being free.
So he'd escaped. It wasn't hard really. Most horses just never thought to try. He, the most dependable horse in the ranch, had bucked off his rider and galloped away into the sunset. (c)
 
 
Course, it hadn't been so easy once he was without humans. Sure he'd been used to the dust, dirt, going without food and water for a time. But foraging? Eating grass instead of soft alfalfa? That wasn't what he expected.
But, what didn't kill him made him stronger. He was in his prime, out with no one to listen to. He thrived.
Then age crept up and he found himself eager to relax. (c)
 
He didn't want to work for every meal, didn't want the aching in his bones any longer.
But it was his own folly that brought him into the wild and by jolly, he would keep in the wild... even if it killed him.
-done-
)

Name: Crimson
Pronounciation: Krim-son
Meaning: A dark red
Nicknames:
 
Gender: Male
Age: Seventeen years
Breed: Quarter Horse x Mustang
Coat: Red Roan
Mane: Cream
Tail: Cream
Eyes: Chocolate
Hooves: Neutral
Markings: Three white stockings and a white stripe
 
Height: 15.3 hh
Body Type: Slender but muscular
Scars: Newly healed pink scars across her back
Deformities: Blind
 
Alliance: Light
Status: Loner
Intelligence: Medium
Diagnosis: Slightly OCD
Health: Emancipated
 
Likes: The heat, quiet,
Dislikes: Fighting, cold,
Fears: Horses getting too close to her, young stallions, storms
 
Personality:
 
 
 
 
History:
 
 
 
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