Genus: Equus
08-17-2016, 12:17 PM
The small dark form that moved through the shade of the trees wasn't one seen often there. The sturdy body was considerably different from the deer and the elk that so often made up the large herbivore population, all the more unusual as the prancing equine was clearly, obviously alone. No, this stallion disdained the tradition of bachelor herds full of sad wet blankets who couldn't get their own harem and struck out on his own.
This was Pippin, and he was one of a breed of ponies long bred by nature to inhabit the rocky fells of certain northern islands. By consequence his frame was compact and ruggedly strong, his hooves sturdy and sure-footed, and he moved with the clear confidence and intelligence native to his kind. Long black tail flagged behind him like a banner, the stallion moved at a slow, head-bobbing trot through the shade, a showy gait certainly but not one that would tire him overly much in the summer heat, until he came to a sudden, prancing halt.
The pony reared up, craning his neck to the branches of an apple tree to nose at the tiny, newly forming fruits before he dropped back to the earth and snorted. Sadly it was far too early for apples, even for a pony with as much a sweet tooth as Pippin. The young green apples wouldn't yet be sweet and edible, and would give him a terrible bellyache besides. A pity - he did so like sweet things. He twitched his tail jerkily in irritation, but subsided, instead dropping his muzzle to the crop at the grass around the base of the tree. So near to the river, the grass here had not yet achieved the tasteless, dry consistency of many of the plains grasses he'd crossed to get here, and for the moment he contented himself in the pleasure of ripping up mouthfuls of the fresh greenery.
This was Pippin, and he was one of a breed of ponies long bred by nature to inhabit the rocky fells of certain northern islands. By consequence his frame was compact and ruggedly strong, his hooves sturdy and sure-footed, and he moved with the clear confidence and intelligence native to his kind. Long black tail flagged behind him like a banner, the stallion moved at a slow, head-bobbing trot through the shade, a showy gait certainly but not one that would tire him overly much in the summer heat, until he came to a sudden, prancing halt.
The pony reared up, craning his neck to the branches of an apple tree to nose at the tiny, newly forming fruits before he dropped back to the earth and snorted. Sadly it was far too early for apples, even for a pony with as much a sweet tooth as Pippin. The young green apples wouldn't yet be sweet and edible, and would give him a terrible bellyache besides. A pity - he did so like sweet things. He twitched his tail jerkily in irritation, but subsided, instead dropping his muzzle to the crop at the grass around the base of the tree. So near to the river, the grass here had not yet achieved the tasteless, dry consistency of many of the plains grasses he'd crossed to get here, and for the moment he contented himself in the pleasure of ripping up mouthfuls of the fresh greenery.