• Evoque

    She is like the wind, taking it slow and steady on some days, and on rarer occasions, filled to the brim with energy. Now don’t be fooled by the scars that detail her delicate legs or by the portion of her aud that has been removed by another Equine’s teeth; she only fights when is completely necessary. You can look into her eyes and find a serene pigment of fine chocolate that melts around the abyssal pupil, melting, as well, the hearts of those who look at it. A thick flow of air presses its exit from grey, paper-thin nostrils that cave into her charcoal maw. She lifts a great limb, with a hue reminiscent of cedar, and places it on the ground before her. Her optics dance around each willow and elm that surround the patch of gold she stands in. High above the treetops that shelter the forest abode below, she could make out the silhouette of an eagle wheeling about the luminescent circle of the sun. She nickers an almost inaudible greeting to the bird, but it vanishes into the ramose foliage before her eyes.

    The incandescent sun bleeds sweltry gold onto her fawn back, and she opens her gait to a lethargic trot. The verdant leaves are painted with a bronze glare that catches her attention as she passes them, but she seems to know exactly where she’s going despite the fact that the land is fresh and new to her. The petite fae wades into the crisp waters of a shallow lake, and lowers her maw to drink. The cool liquid bathes her faded carnation tongue and she swallows, satisfied. As she lifts her dial, her features depict an offcenter smile and deep onyx tresses drape over one optic. She shakes out her pelt, knocking her forelock behind the socket of her eye, then an all-too-familiar scent floods her nares. It could only be another horse.

    She yearns to seek for the Equine that she smells, but she fears to find herself lost in the labyrinth of trees. Though she is living in the wind, the reason for this nervousness is simply that she was once an owned ride. She had lived in a hilltop farm, the only horse belonging to a middle-aged man. He rode her every day, for she was never stubborn or fresh for him. In her third year of life, he brought her to her first show. It was quite a few miles away, with 16 hour driving periods, then the man would pull over and comfort his mare in the trailer. It was back to the road after that. Finally, they had arrived in Maine, where the competition took place. Now, understandably, our fem was intimidated by the cheers, claps, and the voice of the announcer which she could not find. Her lineage traces back to the generations of champions, so she did not need much assurance before it was her turn to appear before the crowd.

    Even with the knowledge that everything was alright and safe, something felt all wrong. She responded slavishly yet contently to her man’s guidance, and tried to take her mind off of her fear. Then it happened. The last fence, all five bars and strung from top to bottom with flowers, ornaments, and other disturbing decoration pushed her over the edge. Her front limbs were forced up towards the sapphire sky, striking the air spiritedly. The man had fallen, as did the horse, landing on top of the rider, immediately snapping his spine against the dusty arena floor. Handlers rushed in, driving the terror-stricken mare off of and away from the dead body. Seeing her bleeding, fallen master in this state mentally distorted her, imprinted an ever-lasting image into her mind.

    She was led into a dark, repulsive trailer, with dung on the flooring and spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. She didn’t want to go, she shrieked and kicked, but she was prodded with a needle in the flank and sent into a heavy sleep. When she awoke, she wa in an arena much like the last, but in the same way, much too different. The sound of a test shot exploded in her auds, and she galloped in the direction of the wooden gate. She tried to jump, thrusting herself to what seemed like freedom, but collided with the wood surface and was knocked to the ground. She had heard laughing, roaring from a small committee of people.

    “So long,,” she remembers hearing one say. At the last moment, when the time was evidently right, she leapt into a breakneck sprint, spinning on her front hooves, and lifting her back legs to kick.

    CRASH! The section of the fence was demolished. She bolted out of the blood-stained pen, out of the horror. Her hooves carried her to a forest located on the tip of the state, where she found a placid panorama and a new home. She never forgave herself for cutting off the life of the only being she really knew, but, decided that he had had a good life with and without her in the picture.

    So, now, the fae lopes with ease down a shallow incline, her gait pure and defined. She is quite the oddball of the wilderness, with a petite, compact frame and perfectly proportional head. She is the size of a pony, at least compared to the other Equines, but she is a genuine Arabian. The only indication of this is her arched tailhead and neck, thin, bony legs, and her elegant dish muzzle. She realizes now that life in the wild is different, uncomfortable, in a way. She meanders through tall grasses, halting to tear off the tips of the welcoming meal, and high-stepping away with |drooping chutes of weeds hanging from her maw on both sides.

    She doesn’t know where she’s going, or is its safe, but she’ll trust that anything in this Earth she can find would prove in one way or another to be better than the ring. Now, what would you call such an illusive mare? Well, her name is one that holds power. It can be spoken as loud as a raging waterfall, or like the wind rustling through the grass, a delicate whisper. Either way, it means the same thing. Her unique ways, her breathtaking pelage, and her nearly flawless gait all unfurl in the word, the title that she goes by. The name itself speaks beauty, though it is one without meaning; the meaning is given by the holder.

    Why, from the day she was born, Evoque seemed to be that perfect name. /fin/