A whinny escaped her mouth, a call, a request. One that borderline on a demand, teetering on the edge just so. Her daughter Tioga had started life shy, a shrinking violet. As she she aged, things changed. She gained confidence playing with the other foals, rarely returned at dusk as she was asked. So the silver dapple scouted the Gates, intent on bringing little miss can't mind, straight home.
The night felt crisp against her dainty frame, the winter would soon be upon the land, encasing it in snow. A yearly struggle for the little female to try trudging though at times. Wichita was an almost pony sized pintorabian, her dark pelt a contrast to her flaxen mane and tail. Her face was adorned with a powdered snip, and the last but likely most noticeable, we're her eyes. They were brown, like milk chocolate, with golden Egyptian cat eye markings. An odd decor for a southern belle, a contradiction to her honeyed accent.
"Tioga!"she cried, though her voice irritated she could not smother her concern."Why I tell ya what, that child. She gonna drive me ta an early grave,"she muttered and gruffled. She spotted just faintly some movement, crossing the distance with a hurried stride. All the while she was barking, "Tioga, you rotten little thing. I been yellin' for ya for a good hour. Is that any way ta treat your momma, I-"
She realized now that was not in fact Tioga, the blast of white marks now noticeable. "Oh, I am so sorry sug. Who might you be?"Her accent was heavy, a smokey,sweet twang lilting from her maw.
