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His eyes lingered a bit on the bareback rider¡¦s retreating form: that was strange. She just came and left: but that brought another problem too, since now he was the grey stallion¡¦s target: wonderful. He was a real beauty, his grey withers equally balanced, his fore feet flashing in the air, dial raised high and defiant. He almost towered over Senri, but not quiet: after all, Senri is 5 feet 9 inches, so it¡¦s pretty hard to top someone out, especially a wild Arabian. One of the funny things around Cascade Mountain is you see a lot of breeds wild: especially the Arabian, where their not supposed to be, and you hardly seen Mustangs¡K chuckling, he curled his arm in front of him, and waited patiently for the horse to descend. He had an urge to tap his foot impatiently, but thinking that mere movement might send the herd into a flurry, he refrained himself, but kept his black-hazel eyes fixed on the stallions face, his own defiance in his eye¡¦s bright sheen of intelligence. Truly, he was dead serious about this: he liked the way the stallion jumped over the log. Natural skills it seemed: horses did best what they did naturally. Everyone, animals and humans, did that. He¡¦ll look fine in the pastures, though Senri didn¡¦t exactly want to break his spirit: that would ruin a horse, and many trainers did that. His tongue clicked lowly against his breathe, just enough to soothe the horse with the rhythm, the sound of his voice. He wished he had a tame stallion here, but no matter.
Though she was almost hidden, a wisp of red fell into the corners of my gaze, and I turned my head toward the source of it. In the shadows, a good distance away from the herd, the mare of my choice stood, sadistically giving birth to a colt. Interested, I left Senri to his grey stallion, blending back into the shadows, a skill I have attained after years of being neglected by my father. I walked in the shade and cover of the trees, for the sun did get at me sometimes: with all these layers of clothing, its I surprise I haven¡¦t died yet. Bending slightly beneath a low branch, I found myself in a surrounded grove: I approved it as an excellent birthing place, if I were this flamed maiden. She was like a dancer of flame: I mulled slightly to myself, before taking a chance: I may not have experience, but I do know that humans and probably animals alike, responded to a gentle voice. ¡§Flame Dancer..¡¨
I let a soft whisper whistle out of my breath, and I hold my hands out, palm up, to show I am not holding anything, not planning to hurt her, or her colt. I stand around two meters away from her, and I look for a twitch of the ears to see if she heard me. She¡¦s beautiful, I find myself thinking. Beautiful free, though she does look rather docile at the moment: I look back to the herd, and the image of the palomino mare also flits into my mind, but I shake it off. I probably have a better chance with being so close to this mare than she: but I¡¦ll cross my fingers and hope luck will come.