He who Claimed the Mountains

[Pancéřove]

Large, pale hooves carefully carried themselves around the larger plants of the scrublands at the foot of this particular section of the Uchipe Range. The scenery of this area was held close Pancéřove’s heart; when he was younger, he was always excited for this region to appear on the horizon as his herd traveled. He suspected he preferred this locale to others simply for the plant life; his herd usually frequented boring plains, with only grass to provide color and interest to the flatlands. Due to the rare sightings of any plant life other then grass and weeds, Pan felt he must try his best to protect the more “complex” forms of life he found. This explained his careful dance around the shrubs and bushes he found in the meadow below the mountains.

Dark brown, nearly obsidian eyes stared ahead, focused on his target. Slowly, he was heading upwards, carefully following a nearly non-existent trail to the highest point of the mountains. He was unaware of what the land was like that high; he believed it would most likely be craggy boulders and rock formations intermingled with the cliff faces. He pondered, briefly, of the similarity his body, with its bizarre clusters of what appeared to be minerals, with that of the mountain. While the peak may not be the greatest area to claim as his own, the lower regions of the mountain itself was a wonderful environment to start a herd, he thought. His reasoning for reaching the highest point was that, for one, he could prove to himself he was capable. Second, and much more important, he could survey the land. His land.

Pan wanted, desperately, to have an area of his own. After being removed from his herd, branded as a monstrosity, he was left to survive on his own. He had been, for the past two years, in a cloud of depression, confused and unsure about his life. However, only a number of days prior, he had come across a treasure trove of new thoughts; why should he be so saddened over what had happened to him, when he now had the chance to start a herd of his own, where all were welcome, possibly including those who were removed from their old herds, like himself? With this in mind, he strove to find a new land, away from those who may ridicule others. This drove him back towards where his old herd had wandered, at the base of the mountains.

A great deal of time had passed; the shrubs began to reduce in size, small saplings and scraggly trees began to dot the landscape as the altitude slowly increased. Periodically, a small rift in the earth called for a small jump, which was hardly a difficulty for Pancéřove. As he began to reach the peak of the mountain, nearly all the plants had seized to be, leaving only small shards of stone to mingle with the larger boulders, resting in the dirt. The stallions eyes attempted to focus; he had always had eyesight that was less adequate then others. He was still capable of making out the large patches of green at the lower areas of the mountain, noted what appeared to be dampened earth in some areas, clues that there may be small puddle of water to be had. Yes, he thought, this area was perfect. Not easy to reach, but not entirely difficult, it would be a place one would have to strive to reach. He snorted, lifted his head. This land would be his now. He felt, briefly, a sense of empowerment. This was his land, now, and all who came upon it shall answer to him. He slowly made his way back down, wishing now only to graze on his newly claimed land…

[Gracieux]

Today was not her best day, nor her worst. Today, it seemed, was the day she had decided that it was better to step up to the plate than to fall behind it. This being so, leaving her chosen home of the swamps had been a plan laid out perfectly; mapped, organized, strategic... terrifying. Still, blue-tinted hooves carried her to where she thought it safer and more protected. Hoping to find someone to coddle her, she knew she had best seek out others. Where others were, she was as of yet unsure.

Daintily, slender legs were motivated along the jagged hillside. She moved across the span, but not up or down with any intent, minuscule hooves perching and hopping from jagged rocks to slick boulders to gravely patches of shard-like earth and stone that scraped and cut at her hooves and flesh occasionally. A sigh left her. Having nowhere to go she was content to wander here, no matter how hindering it was. Grace had nothing else to do with herself. She might as well wander through this horrid place, maybe fall down the hill a time or two.

She tried vehemently to dispel the anger that welled up in her, but it was a lost cause. The lady held a knack of considerable strength for holding grudges with much stability and length. Her thoughts were shattered and forgotten for the moment, however, when she began to hear rustling and motion coming down the hillside, possibly directly toward her. Snorting, her neck stretched, craning her head toward the offending sounds, ears flickering toward them with immense curiosity. She did not stop to consider whether or not she was putting herself in any danger. The chances of running into another horse were much greater than those of running into a ravenous beast, were they not? One chisel-like hoof lifted, pulled forward met the ground, her body stretching but never really moving forward. Black tendrils of tail hung slack against one fragile-looking hind leg.

Again, a snort left her. This time the sound was louder, more demanding, snotty as she was. A forehoof was lifted only to be stomped back down in a forceful and echo-inducing way. She was curious, but not fearless. There was no chance of her entering the treeline until she knew what dwelt there.

[Pancéřove]

As Pan slowly descended the mountainous landscape, he found himself doubting his plans. How could he possibly hope to gather members for his herd in this landscape? While he thought primarily of an area that would be hard to reach, he failed to note just how difficult it may be for others to traverse. The mountains were not often a prized destination, he thought to himself.

Thus, it was quite a surprise for him to hear what sounded curiously like a snort. Rocks, he pondered, did not snort. Quickly following this noise came another; a shot rang out, the noise bounced upon larger boulders and cliff faces to render his ability to detect the direction it came from useless. His steps slowed, but his direction remained the same. His eyes shifted, scanned the area for signs of movement. He was not one to shout out questions to thin air, inquiring who was there. His careful creeping was not entirely effective; bits of shale and gravel would occasionally cascade downwards, producing a fair amount of noise. This prompted him to lift his legs higher, set them down more gently; he was sure this looked quite silly, but was effective. Pancéřove felt as though a great deal of time had passed, his careful steps seemed to take a minute each. In reality, a mere minute or two had passed since he heard the second noise.

His scanning of the area eventually payed off; as he passed by a particularly wide stone spire, he noted a bit of blue out of the corner of his eye. He stopped midstep, carefully set his hoof down. A small, blue horse was at his right, a short distance away and a bit below. He noted that once he passed the spire, the land fell away from the area except for the trail he was currently following, leaving his somewhat elevated and most likely very easy to see. Deeming the horse as most likely not a threat, he carefully descended the elevated area, and began to walk towards her; a small feat, as the area between them was filled with more loose stones then other areas. Once he felt close enough, he lowered his head briefly, then lifted it somewhat higher then he would normally when idle. A flurry of questions rose in his mind; who could she be? Why was she here? Did she not have a herd of her own? He decided, in a very short time, that he should first and foremost introduce himself. “Hello. I am called Pancéřove.”

[Gracieux]

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Black-tipped ears flicked back and forth, the noises she so carefully monitored becoming closer and more deliberate. The strands of her black tail beat at her hocks as she waited, frustration growing. Whoever this was needed to man up, she decided. She would not wait for them for very long, and would be disappointed that she had already wasted the time she had if the other animal turned out to be another mare or an elderly stallion. She needed a home, and there was no time to waste. Gracieux disregarded the fact that she had already been wandering for a considerably large amount of time, and that a few more minutes certainly would not harm her. All that silliness was beside the point in her mind.

One obsidian hoof pawed the ground before her in anxiousness, scattering a few shards of rock the rolled with an unpleasant clatter a few yards down the slope. This was probably not the best place to be standing, but there did not seem to be any place better in the near vicinity. Every bit of this place was steep and rocky, the small paths cutting through it only serving as slightly less dangerous routes. The path that she stood on now was only distinguished from the surrounding area by its slightly less steep grade and a few old hoof prints, preserved in dried mud, scattered here and there. This was not really the place she wanted to live, but it would be better than nothing for now.

Eventually, another horse was spotted above her, and she stood in wait at her most regal. He would come to her. She would not go to him. She would not chase anyone down or make their lives convenient unless they were proven to pay her back one hundred fold. Her delicate head was held in a lofty manner, eyes following him as he made his way down the hill. A soft snort came as she judged him. Not as big or pretty as the last one, but maybe he would be a tad more useful. Vassago had mostly just annoyed her with his childish antics. She did not like to feel as though she were babysitting her lead.

Grace’s velvet black muzzle only tipped higher when he spoke, the Arab blood in her causing the banner of her tail to carry itself half erect. Hmm. She stared him down for a second, inspecting him. “I am Gracieux,” she told him flatly, “and I assume this gravel pit is yours?”

fin!

[Pancéřove]

Ah, so she was one of those horses, was she? Pan nearly chuckled as the haughty mare tried her best to appear as regal as they come, while clearly uncomfortable standing on the loose stone fragments of the area. He considered her question. Yes, this place was his now, although a more accurate description would perhaps be a gravel mound. He thought he was quite funny. “Yes. This is my land. I have just claimed it as such. Are you, perhaps, lost?” He took a step closer, waited for a reaction from her; he was still, however, a good distance away from her. Did she not have an issue with his appearance?

He took the time to analyze the newcomer. She was an interesting slightly unsaturated blue; he felt it more fitting that she should perhaps be a more royal blue color. She seemed to be quite experienced in holding her head high, along with her tail. He quickly decided that she was most likely removed from her herd for being a snot.

He quickly lost interest in judging the (somewhat small, to him) mare before him. His thoughts were quickly enveloped with hunger; he had intended to find a spot to graze as he descended the highest point of the mountain. He remembered seeing a certain point in the general direction he had been heading in that appeared to hold a bit of foliage. He decided that he would be heading there, as soon as he could establish if this mare intended to stay or was indeed simply lost. How one could get lost up here was a good question, he thought. Unless, he pondered, she wished to scout out the area from a good vantage point.

Another thought rose in his mind; it was quite a coincidence that a mare come to his land so quickly after doubts were rising that he may never find members for his herd. Plus, right after claiming said land. He mentally shrugged it off, however. Why question these occurrences?

He noted that he was not looking at the blue mare, but at the scenery about them; he quickly shifted his eyes back to her…

OOC: Italics!

[Gracieux]

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She did not try to be regal, she was regal. Well, maybe more haughty than regal, but it was all the same in the end. Either way, she was better than everyone else and knew all about it. There was no sense in trying to talk her out of it as she would only fight you. Grace was the type to argue even when all hope had been lost. She would win simply by insisting on her beliefs for so long that you were forced to give up.

He had only just now claimed it? That did not mean much to her. That meant that he was likely the only one here, and that the place could be easily lost to any intruding stallion. She began to grow suspicious of his abilities but said nothing of it. “I could only be lost if I had a place to be,” she told him flatly, still bitter about her loss of home and stallion. This had been, to be perfectly honest, her home before Vassago had left. This span of mountains was hers before it was ever this lowly stallion’s. She knew he would not care, and so said nothing. It would come to be an important point later when he was searching for resources that she already knew of. It was pleasant to have the upper hand on him.

She strolled lightly in a path parallel to him, never moving up or down the mountain’s side but along it. Gracieux did not look at him nor pay even the slightest bit of attention to him. He was unimportant to her. Why should she care? He had done nothing to aid her as of yet.

A snort left her flared nostrils as she cleared a large boulder in her chosen path. There was a reason she had always stayed in the forested regions of the mountain when she had called this place home. Besides the fact that the forests held all the food and water, there were no stupid rocks to break her pretty little neck on.

fin!

[Pancéřove]

As Pan headed, at a somewhat slower pace as he had taken while on his own, back down the mountain in search of food, he glanced at the other as she walked alongside him, stared in silence as she spoke. He was quite sure that the fact she was here, was to find “a place to be”. Why else would a mare be wandering about on her own? Obviously, he did not discuss this with her at the moment; he would give her the benefit of the doubt and ensure she wished to stay here.

“So. You have no herd of your own, then?” He wished to ask why she was lacking a home of her own, but understood he must ask that type of question later. He was quite curious about the newcomer.

He noted, as they walked, the gradual shift from loose rock to more hard-packed earth, and sickly-looking shrubs. They still had a small ways to go before they would find what Pan believed to be food. He was not particularly sure what he had seen from the high point of the mountain, only that there were patches of green, some darker shades then others. He assumed, however, that he’d find a bit of grass in a short while. He dreaded the thought of being wrong, and only finding inedible waxy shrubs. He was quite hungry, and the concept of searching for food while, he believed, nearly starving would be pure torture. He was, of course, far from starvation; he had eaten in the early morning, and had been filling himself well for the past few days.

He glanced back at the blue mare, watched how she walked. It was quite deliberate, each step seemed carefully planned. Of course, he thought, this was with good reason. He himself had to carefully step around any loose stones that could cause him to trip. Her movements, however, while delicate, still had a fair amount of strength behind them. He noted that she was not the dainty fragile thing he first thought of her as; he could see a good bit of muscle on her. She could most likely hold her own, he found himself thinking absently.

[Gracieux]

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She had no home, and had never really had one as far as she was concerned. The first herd she had traveled with, the one of her birth, was not a herd to her because she felt that it lacked loyalty. Mares came and went as they pleased and her father, the lead, was often inattentive. Her second herd was a bit nomadic, as the lead had been a talker who could sway mares into his possession, but could never manage to procure a land of his own. Her third home had been, well, here… but the lead had only stayed for a short period of time before vanishing into thin air. Gracieux was the most resentful of the last of these episodes, as she had struggled so hard to gain a foothold and had essentially had it all ripped out from under her.

Therefore, a flat “No,” was her initial answer to his question. A mare with a home would not be cavorting about with foreign studs, would she? Well, most would not. With Grace, however, it was quite possible. Coming from a home in which such fooling around was acceptable, she knew no sense of solidarity or monogamy.

“But that’s normal,” her voice would have expressed humor if the comment had been at all funny. Certainly, she was struggling with the idea of abandonment, even though it happened to her often. How was she to survive? There was no one to feed her, no one to protect her and no one to fulfill any of her other basic needs - you know, like complimenting her pretty eyes and waiting on her hand and foot.

fin!