Good Times

She grazed in a small clearing, tail swishing, mane dragging the ground, forelock veiling her black face and hiding the small four point of a star that centered her forehead. Velvet black lips whipped soft, sweet shots of the grass into her mouth, and hard teeth cropped the stuff. Her ears were on constant alert, flicking, swiveling, pricking toward some sounds and ignoring the normal noises of the surroundings. Birds were ignored, normal herbivore wildlife as well.

Obsidian was rather enjoying her meal, despite the thunder that rumbled overhead and the rain that cascaded onto her back, running down her sleek sides and made her mane and tail cling together in wavy wet ropes. She had no worries of attack on her being here in Valhalla. She was a part of the pack. A warrior. She was proud to have such an amazing pack to be a part of.

She raised her head and tossed it, flinging her wet forelock in all directions, white star glowing white under a flash of lightning, stark against her deep black hide. Her eyes stood out too. Her mother had been a black Sabino Morab, the white facial marking going over her eyes and helping to make her eyes the blue they had been. Her father had been raven black, not a mark on him. Obsidian had inherited the best of both. Her mother?s eyes and personality, her father?s coloring and majesty.

She snorted, then dropped her head back to the wet grass, off foreleg and near hind leg moving forward a step as she continued her evening meal of grass. She was content. She felt safe. She knew Cormalin wasn?t far off. He kept an eye on her. Their friendship had become strong and genuine. She gave a happy swish of her wet tail. Life was good.