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±flints strike the Gorge with stready impulses, the noise unheard by most. Entrance was not fancy nor attention-calling. Still dial was held high, the sun-bleached forelock sheilding the doe eyes from the blaring apollo. Nares expand, exposing the reddish hues within. Indicators twitch round, catching the sounds of other equines. No danger detected gaurd slips just slightly. Flicking tail round her barrel to rid the frame of flies; she secretes the scent of estrus. Yes, it was her season and stallion would be sure to follow. Proud crown drops to foliage below foot, cropping it with vivacity.
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