Dancing with Demons, Make time stop.

[Rin]

|Julian|

From atop a hill sound the war drum. One heavy dagger struck out at the earth, calling to the terrain's master. His heart was black, but never had Julian been so rash as to come looking for a battle. The nomadic life was free, but never could he have an empress until a land called him lord. He threw back his cranium, cannons rising, and sound the daring bellow. All four daggers sunk back into the silky dancers of grass as he let his call linger. Tresses hung blinding to one visionary, as the other scanned a distance. Ready to fight for merely earth, he awaited rival.

What did this make the rebel? He didn't want to fight for such meaningless matters. Battles were meant only for protecting, all his life a law he forced himself upon. But now, he was alone. Life had met a turning point and now only battle was all he could succeed upon. His musing mind dared to call shame upon him. Still...he could easily lose. Loss would return personal law, but it would also leave him more broken and lonely.

[kowshe]

Two-toned coat shifted as four hooves moved her in a quick trot, her head level and her ears pinned. Her matted mane flopped against her neck, and her tangled tail tried to flutter; to no avail. She shivered the skin around her withers, dust rising from her dirty coat. Her deep brown eyes looked this way and that as she moved, her ears staying back. She was bored, and hadn't seen the others for a while. Which was all good with her. Zeke, the lead stag, she didn't mind. And the lead mare was semi-okay too. It was that bytch Vanity she dispised. So engrossed with her own looks that she was almost intolaratable. Thought everybody should be judged on looks. Who the f.uck cared?! Not Cursed Beauty, that was for sure.

The painted mare moved heavily, not with any lightness of the others. She was of mixed blood, a mutt, and proud of it. Her firey, 'hate-everybody' attitude usually got her nowhere. Exept kicked out. But this herd had kept her. For what reason though, Curse didn't know. She snorted suddely and stopped, her ears rising from her locks, her body stopping quickly. Curse raised her head, looking around. Where had that call come from? It hadn't been from any other mares...nor Zeke. But it had been a stallion, Curse was sure of it. Changing direction, she hit a brisk lope in the direction of the call.

She entered the forest, actually a patch of trees, and weaved in and out, dodging the thick trunks. Vines reached down, threatening to catch her head and strangle her, but she lowered her dial and moved through. Soon she was out, and Curse stopped again. She saw a slight hill, not huge, but not small either.

Atop the hill stood the stag she'd heard. She wondered, for only a second, what he was doing here. Then she realized he was either asking to be second lead, or challening for lead. Most likely the latter. Brutes were thick and thought only of themselves. Curse had learned that the hard way. She shook her head, grime falling from her mane, and trotted up the hill. She was about 20 feet away when she stopped, then raised her head and looked at the stag, ears pinned, her body tense, ready for anything he could throw at her.

"And just who you might be?"

Curse snarled in her way. She was determined that this stag hate her, like she wanted. She could do it so easily. Even if she wasn't lead stag or mare, she had the right to ask. Whether he answered or not was his choise. And if she got in trouble, oh well. She arched her neck and raised it a fraction of an inch, waiting.