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Date Posted: 17:19:54 03/11/03 Tue
Author: Adrian
Subject: .[swift].

With a long stride, the bay stallion canters easily into the darkened forest. His wits are kept confidently about him, for he knew he wasn't to be here. Perhaps it was because of his increasing apathy towards life or maybe because of the bay's yearning for certain danger that triggered the meloncholy stallion to adventure back within the depths of the golden stallion's abyss. His hooves hit the ground in rhythm; the english-bred's slender legs move in perfect sanctimony with the surrounding terrain. Sailing 'cross the carpet of pine needles, he is blissfully free and upon lengthening his sweeping strides, he relishes in the cool air he so loved. Yet it is not the same, and the stallion slows to a halt surrounded by the secretive solitude of the coniferous flora. He fears of ambush, and his brown ears swivel in a nervous display. Yet the dark eyed bloke needn't worry too much, for his speed is hard to match. Thoroughbred heritage graces the male strongly: powerful haunches, slender legs, deep chest, and a lean overall physique. Full tilt, he could maintain a blazing forty miles per hour and cover up to twenty feet in a single stride. The seedy young thoroughbred was built for prolonged speed, but this isn't what he's thinking of now. The male's bay quarters push him into an energetic walk as he negotiates the forest. His radar ears pick up faint speech, and the stallion slows a fraction, continuing cautiously forward.

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