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//Bramble and thicket devil's club, a sting or a sticker in every
shrub.//
No, he wasn't a hunter. But he was a protector. Besides, there was no such thing as an herbivore hunter, at least...he
didn't think so. My, the sky was blue today. Like an ocean of azure upon rocks of pearly white. And the grass!
He lowered
his miniature crown to taste some of the nectar. So sweet! (c)
//Rolling around in the dirt and the mud. Lord you must really like
the taste of blood//
Energized, he threw his crania back, hindquarters jumping upward into a distorted 'C'. If this wasn't
paradise, he didn't know what was. The sunlight gleamed, pallid mane slapping at his arched neck and banner of a tail rounded
in the same shape, an Arabian's arch of the tail. He had the body for it, too. (c)
//Your prey today is very scary.//
He was petite, I suppose. At
the most, 15hh. His chiseled head with the telltale tea cup muzzle. His legs, though thin, were strong and muscular. But his
color: Palomino. What a idiotic color to be. He was cursed with the nonsense hue, a feminine color.
No matter that his
slightly crimped mane danced along his arched neck, that his hindquarters danced (c)
//Bruiser bruin big brawn and hairy//
strenth. It was a silly
color.
But, you ask, go back! How did an Arabian come to live in the wasteland where wild horses dwell?
His mother,
though a champion in shows and blood, escaped and there found his father, a Mustang stallion. Need I say more?
But alas,
she was captured and her son, abandoned in these harsh lands. Raised wild. (c)
//Fearsome snarlin' growlin' there.//
He paused, darting at an
imaginary foe. Coal muzzle snapped at it, tearing of invisible flesh from the bone. Harsh cry of triumph as his opponent collapsed
to the ground. Aye, he was a hunter. Any foe, he could defeat. Another shriek of triumph escaped his bodice, minute body engulfed
in the spasms of the cry.
Muscular, young body moved swiftly- (c)
//Hunter beware that grizzly bear//
racing the very wind itself
from east to west. Crimped mane brushed his face and he drew his cry to a close, listening with velvety ears as it echoed
througout the petite valley. The mighty hunter he was, and to be such a hunter at a young age! His parents would be proud
that their son of two springs had acheived such greatness. Yes, indeed. A hunter.
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