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Post by Deleted on Jun 20, 2014 9:20:49 GMT -6
To say breath was hard to draw would be a gross understatement. One so egregious that it would demand immediate punishment of the speaker. Breath came only in ragged gasps, barely inflating her lungs, only a minimal amount of oxygen reaching her suffocating muscles. Every fiber of her being was aflame, searing pain rippling down her length, centering on her rear leg. At the top of her hip began a wicked slice. The wound snaked down her flank, zigzagging back and forth with the contours of her musculature, ending at the top of her hoof. It might've gone further, as the discolored mark down the front-side of the hoof showed, but there was no more flesh to tear. Only bone-hard hoof. Blood, both fresh-red and crust-brown, caked her leg.
The flight from the sadistic tyrant had been fast and furious. In the moment, adrenaline flowing, the grievous wound had been forgotten. The nerves in thag limb had hushed themselves, knowing that escape was a matter of life and death. Only when she had begun to slow, destination nearing, had their collective cries reached her mind once more. Now, she stood, injured leg propped and held at an angle, the tip of her hoof hovering centimeters over the dusty ground, afraid to touch. Sides heaved, body working hard to replenish the oxygen levels in her blood, desperately trying to avoid a collapse. If she fell, she may not right herself.
The mare was thick of body, muscular and well-defined. Though her breeding was of elegance, she retained only the power. Furthermore, she was potentially unique of pelt. The majority of her body would have been stark white, were she not marred with a conglomeration of dust, dirt, and blood. Her limbs, however, were a blue-shining black--the truest of blacks--from hoof to knee. Feathering about her black feet was light, but noticeable. And, yet, the oddity of this animal didn't stop there. Sharing of the color of her limbs was her face; Black bald, minus her ears. The ever-alert appendages were white. Her eyes, stark in contrast, unavoidable, were the brightest of blues. Their piercing gaze was impossible to miss, expressive to no end.
The mare shut her bright eyes, willing her pain to dissipate so that she might better focus on the task of survival. Her wound stood resolute, deaf to her pleas. Eyes reopened, gaze sweeping the terrain. Desolate. This seemed an appropriate place for her current mood. Elation, though it existed within her breast, was beaten down by exhaustion. She was free of the stallion, yes, but now she was wounded, alone, and in a sheer wasteland. The mare summoned her strength and lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she took in the hot scent of this place. First thing's first; She needed water.
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