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Date Posted: 18:09:05 07/02/01 Mon
Author: Exquisite
Subject: **She turns to him once more**
In reply to: Devil's Image 's message, "Struggles to contain his glee." on 13:14:01 07/02/01 Mon


**She regains composure. Her hooves stop their nervous dance and her ears lock still - however they be pinned against her skull. She lifts her muzzle, almost nobely, to the wind and stares off across the horizon. What lies out their for her? A better home with better horses? An honest herd that need not judge and critique and terrorize to feel secure? A family, a loved one, a friend? Her mind is swept away - so meanigless seeing as the situation her nemesis has placed her in is such a tight one. Yet she in un-concerned over it. She turns one eye back to the opposing stallion as she stands atop the haunted cliff, as if she was it's queen. The wind rips and tears at her thick mane and sends her foretop spiraling about her wide-set eyes. Her snow-white tail twists and spins behind her - it too raised much like her cup-size muzzle. She opens her small mouth and her voice comes almost saddly. She has forgotten why she has come here and now wishes greatly to leave. Pride holds her still.
"Devil's Image, when I first joined your game, I felt very alone. The main message board in this place holds only a few advertisments as did your breeding board. This showed me there was very little love in this barren land. My name Exquisite - which it has lived so for a year now on various RPG games on the internet. This also singled me out for I was almost the only one who's name did not have to do with hate or lust."

"I visited Dark Victory's terrain - I hoped to ask him what was happening, when I stumbled across an ebony black mare who cristened herself Syn. This was a very accurate name for her. She was the type that came to this world wanting to be noticed and respected. There was nothing at all wrong with this for we all need someone to rest our hearts with."
"Syn, however, went about this the wrong way. She was cruel, and cruelty; in the end, will never win. I approached her about this and had several conversations with her - each of these distiguishing various morals and characteristics of her. In the end, she chose not stop her unmerciful ways, and asked of me to kill her. A suicidal request - the cowards way out."
"However, back on topic. Devil's Image you are tiring me. I had hoped to make a good home here, I thought I could do it by sparing others with the elimination of one mare. I have recently discovered that she has soured to many good spirits, and that every day more join with a cold-blooded and murderous desire for the inhumane treatment of others."
**She drops her head - her white coat not dull in lustre and her eyes clouded over. Her ears slack and she cocks a hind hoof. She stre up at the stallion with the hopeless eyes of a troubled child. Seeing as he can peer into her sould, he must be able to see that she is not old and wise, she is worldy wise. The worst way a young spirit can be.**
"I am not changing, Image. I have not made myself become hypocritical or contradicting of myself. Nor have I made myself cowardly, weak, or pathetic. You are doing this to me. You are faulting me for everything pure I have left. You are slaughtering every hope or wish or dream I have brought here with my arrival and turning it aruond to make me seem inferior. And when has it become a crime to stand up for another? Have you never had a clode friend that when he was faulted you took his side? This is merely an act of love and friendship, which cannot be classified as good or evil. It is a neccesity with horses seeing as we are herd animals and will go mad if she are placed alone or excluded."
**She turns away from the stallion, her eyes closed.**

Where in all the world is nobility found without conciet? Where is there friendship without envy? Where is there beauty without vanity? Here one finds gracefullness coupled with power, and strength tempered with gentleness. A constant servant, yet no slave. A fighter, ever without hostility. Our history was written on his back. We are his heirs. But he is his own heritage, the horse.

"These are the words of H.-H. Isenbart. He captured the equine creature in every essence. If you, in real life, have ever owned or been close to a horse, you would respect him for what he is, and not try to make hism something he's not. He is not a killer or hater or murderor. He is the earth's last pure spirit."
"Quit ruining his name, Devil's Image. You are hurting all of us through it."

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