05-17-2018, 09:54 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Arizonia|Macondo|Philosopher" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.mosrael_container{position:relative;width: 500px;background:#BFCBD0; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #000;}.mosrael_image{position:relative;width: 500px;}.mosrael_name{position:relative;text-align: center; font: 60px 'Arizonia', cursive; color: #60945F; text-shadow: 1px 1px 5px #60945F;}.mosrael_quote{position:relative; width: 50%; text-align: center; font: 15px 'Macondo', cursive; color:#60945F; text-shadow: 1px 1px 5px #60945F; border-bottom: solid 1px rgba(96, 148, 95, 0.3);}.mosrael_container p {width:450px;padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 15px;}.mosrael_message{position:relative;text-align: justify;font: 14px 'Philosopher', sans-serif; color: #000; }</style><center><div class="mosrael_container"><div class="mosrael_name">Mosrael</div><div class="mosrael_quote">i'm way too<br>good at goodbyes</div><p class="mosrael_message">
The battleground is eerily quiet as the eldest daughter of Ischia's new leaders stepped lightly upon it. Confidently, the purple freckled mare stared out across the misty expanse, fixing a steely gaze upon her opponent. Blowing cold, an autumn wind tossed through her silver streaked mane, a reminder of her past success. The Nerinian filly, with whom she'd been paired, appeared almost nervous as she trotted up to her starting position. Mosrael knew too well that the advantage was her's. Years of experience and training had made her lean and agile and, with many victories proudly behind her, she could not be intimidated by the twig of a horse presented to her.
Wishbone, Mosrael recalled as her name, slowed to a steady halt her gaze concentrated as she seized her up. Smiling with anticipation, Mos reminded hherself that their's would be a mock battle.
Exhaling, she braced herself for the start of their duel. Just beneath her skin, Mosrael's muscles bunched in preparation as her hooves planted themselves firmly into the soil. It was not difficult for her to guess the filly's approach. Reckless and young, undoubtedly the filly would rely upon her youthful vigor to steal the advanrage away from her own experience. The mare, however, has trained up her own fair share of rookies and is unsurprised when Wishbone does not disappoint.
Galloping forward, Mosrael stands in wait as she braced herself for the attack. <i>Patience is a virtue.</i> She reminds herself sternly. Veering towards Mos' left, her eyes watched as Wishbone's pace slowed ever so slightly as she changed direction. Taking aim at her shoulder, the bay struck out with her forelegs. Quickly, Mosrael side-stepped, knowing all to well that complete avoidance would be impossible. Instead, the battle worn appaloosa opted to take the full force of the filly's blow upon the strength of her back. Taking Wishbone's weight upon her, air pushed out of her lungs as she relied upon her strength to hold steady beneath the added pressure. Lowering her ears she bared her teeth as she took aim upon the filly's soft underbelly.
Backing away, Mosrael took note as Wishbone lowered to her feet once more with a thud. Parallel to each other, the mare licked her lips as she breathed out through her lips, her ears still flat upon her skull. Lunging forward as Wishbone reoriented herself to the mare's right. Mid-stride she slid to a halt, using the momentum of her forward motion to help spin herself up and onto her forelegs. Taking aim, she focused a generous amount her strength into her buck as she aimed towards the filly's barrel. Landing with a solid thump she trotted away, feeling the pain in her back from Wishbone's previous attack. Angling herself back towards the filly she squared herself expectantly as she anticipated her apponent's next move.
</p><img class="mosrael_image" src="http://i65.tinypic.com/28rm6hg.png"></div></center>
Word count: 475
The battleground is eerily quiet as the eldest daughter of Ischia's new leaders stepped lightly upon it. Confidently, the purple freckled mare stared out across the misty expanse, fixing a steely gaze upon her opponent. Blowing cold, an autumn wind tossed through her silver streaked mane, a reminder of her past success. The Nerinian filly, with whom she'd been paired, appeared almost nervous as she trotted up to her starting position. Mosrael knew too well that the advantage was her's. Years of experience and training had made her lean and agile and, with many victories proudly behind her, she could not be intimidated by the twig of a horse presented to her.
Wishbone, Mosrael recalled as her name, slowed to a steady halt her gaze concentrated as she seized her up. Smiling with anticipation, Mos reminded hherself that their's would be a mock battle.
Exhaling, she braced herself for the start of their duel. Just beneath her skin, Mosrael's muscles bunched in preparation as her hooves planted themselves firmly into the soil. It was not difficult for her to guess the filly's approach. Reckless and young, undoubtedly the filly would rely upon her youthful vigor to steal the advanrage away from her own experience. The mare, however, has trained up her own fair share of rookies and is unsurprised when Wishbone does not disappoint.
Galloping forward, Mosrael stands in wait as she braced herself for the attack. <i>Patience is a virtue.</i> She reminds herself sternly. Veering towards Mos' left, her eyes watched as Wishbone's pace slowed ever so slightly as she changed direction. Taking aim at her shoulder, the bay struck out with her forelegs. Quickly, Mosrael side-stepped, knowing all to well that complete avoidance would be impossible. Instead, the battle worn appaloosa opted to take the full force of the filly's blow upon the strength of her back. Taking Wishbone's weight upon her, air pushed out of her lungs as she relied upon her strength to hold steady beneath the added pressure. Lowering her ears she bared her teeth as she took aim upon the filly's soft underbelly.
Backing away, Mosrael took note as Wishbone lowered to her feet once more with a thud. Parallel to each other, the mare licked her lips as she breathed out through her lips, her ears still flat upon her skull. Lunging forward as Wishbone reoriented herself to the mare's right. Mid-stride she slid to a halt, using the momentum of her forward motion to help spin herself up and onto her forelegs. Taking aim, she focused a generous amount her strength into her buck as she aimed towards the filly's barrel. Landing with a solid thump she trotted away, feeling the pain in her back from Wishbone's previous attack. Angling herself back towards the filly she squared herself expectantly as she anticipated her apponent's next move.
</p><img class="mosrael_image" src="http://i65.tinypic.com/28rm6hg.png"></div></center>
Word count: 475