07-22-2015, 03:25 PM
The patience required for idle chatter is not something that the bay stallion possesses in great amounts. He possesses very little of it at all, actually, and perhaps this explains the scowls he gives to friendly passersby. All of them – mares and stallions alike – are treated equally by his brown-black glare, a novelty especially in this season of fiery leaves and cool breezes. His brief affair with mortality had not affected him terribly, yet despite the abundance of mares in the Meadow he makes no attempt to approach them.
Instead he sulks, half-hidden in the shade of a red-leafed oak tree.
Texas cannot remember the last time that he was in the Meadow, and as the sun begins to sink behind the horizon, he remembers why. He is too old for the meadow and for the talk-of-nothing that is here. His life spans nearly two centuries and his patience had run out at 50. Now and again he tries to submerge himself in the daily life of Beqanna; his past decade in the Falls is proof of that. But the Falls is as quiet as the Meadow and Texas has always needed something to occupy himself. He doesn’t want to rule or to fight or to bother with diplomacy. He pretends to, of course, and pretends rather well if the progress he has made in the ranks of the Dazzling Waterfall are any indication.
He stretches to scratch at an itch on his grizzle muzzle with one long black foreleg, and ponders the potential consequences of leaping from the top of the Waterfall once he returns home.
Instead he sulks, half-hidden in the shade of a red-leafed oak tree.
Texas cannot remember the last time that he was in the Meadow, and as the sun begins to sink behind the horizon, he remembers why. He is too old for the meadow and for the talk-of-nothing that is here. His life spans nearly two centuries and his patience had run out at 50. Now and again he tries to submerge himself in the daily life of Beqanna; his past decade in the Falls is proof of that. But the Falls is as quiet as the Meadow and Texas has always needed something to occupy himself. He doesn’t want to rule or to fight or to bother with diplomacy. He pretends to, of course, and pretends rather well if the progress he has made in the ranks of the Dazzling Waterfall are any indication.
He stretches to scratch at an itch on his grizzle muzzle with one long black foreleg, and ponders the potential consequences of leaping from the top of the Waterfall once he returns home.
T E X A S
immortal silver bay hybrid stallion
king of the falls