The sun is setting, a soft hazy pink and orange tints the meadow. Trees, at full bloom, overhang the trail like a story book. With every step, soft dirt crushes beneath her heavy weight, in tune with her own rhythm. She is jet black, a raven, silently sweeping her way into existence again.
So long had she buried herself in the depths of shadows, and now the sunlight is allowed to beam on her spine once more.
She is elegant, beautifully so. Her body is lean from her hard winter and lonely summer. Her feminine muscles are most noticeable amongst her shoulders and hindquarters, gleaming from consistent travelling and adventure. She has been a wanderer, a lost puppy, and here she is yet again.
Homeless.
It wasn’t that she is sad, she is just passive. Passive about how the wind is winding her mane in knots. Passive about how the birds are chirping obnoxiously loud. Passive about her lack of family. Passive about how her body feels after travelling this long. She is emotionless, a rock. Happy on the outside, empty on the inside.
But, nonetheless, she is breathing.. Right?
Above her she watches the blanket of leaves grow thinner. In front of her, the abundance of trees becomes fewer and fewer until she reaches the meadow tree line. Thick blades grow, about knee high in gracious places and no lower than ankle height in favored shade spots. She feels a slight breeze tickle her muzzle and inhales a deep, relaxing breath of air.
It isn’t home, but it isn’t solitude either.
Her body emerges, feeling the full impact of heat breathe at her side. She isn’t easy to miss, isn’t hard to look over either. She is glamorous, yes, but nothing special. Jet black, onyx, with the smallest pearl white snip at the very tip of her nose.
And her prophets thumb.
Yes, her small indent in the side of her neck that looks like God pushed a little too hard against her clay while he sculpted at her frame.
Hazel brown eyes set on something.
Someone.
He is beautiful, if a man can be deemed so. He is tall, much taller than herself with a masculine build and Spanish-like nose. He reminds her of a Roman soldier in the 1700’s, he was just missing his steel grey armor.
Her eyes blink.
And blink.
And then she feels foolish, because now she finds herself analyzing everyone amongst the meadow. The palomino mare in the far corner, the chestnut stud grazing at the meadow exit. The nauseatingly beautiful grey filly christening herself in the small pool of water to the southern border.
She finds herself feeling a little ordinary.
In defense of her sudden lack of confidence, her tail swishes and her ears slightly pin for point three of a second. As if… For one moment, she feels not good enough to be in the meadow.
Though she is, and now she is just frustrated at herself for being negative.
To distract herself she hastily lowers her head, aggravated, grinding blades of green grass within her jaw. Her eyes close briefly, inhaling the sweet scent of food, attempting to disguise her discomfort with relaxation.
Unfortunately, our little Exemplary has never been a good actress.
Exemplary
I will be yours, and only yours, until the day I fade to black