Post by Serengeti on Dec 9, 2006 16:53:24 GMT -5
The shrill cry of a mare was heard over the field of spring daisies and bluebells. Several mares lifted their heads towards the cry, nickering in agitation. But the elder ones knew it's meaning and were used to it. One mare trotted over the rise and looked down into the valley where the whinny had come from. Her head jerked back as she saw the herd's leader struggling to stand. The old buckskin was glaring into the eyes of his challanger, a young palomino. Both pairs of audits were pinned, teeth bared. The buckskin managed to stand but staggered back to the ground as the young opponent hit him in his side with a rear hoof. The young mare neighed, panicked and afraid. A kindly older mare appeared at her side and gently herded her back towards the other. One last cry was heard, then uneven hoofbeats resounded for a while, dying away as the older stallion fled. 'Twas the way of Nature, only the strong survived. As the younger stallion appeared he was not greeted warmly, but the mares would soon bend to his will and follow him. The young mare felt saddened by this, but she too would one day forget and become a loyal follower of this ruthless leader.
