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Description

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Featuring: A6170 Imagine That and A6788 Nimbostratus
Show: Remuda Livery Invitational
Class: Foal Frolics*

*Madge is not quite a yearling in this RPG, so she's technically still a foal, albeit a rather large one at this point!

Artist's Notes: Nimbus is a newborn foal in this scene/story. He will not have greyed out as completely as his adult ref. For the purposes of the storyline, I'm going to be gradually greying him out in my artwork. No refs. All my own work!

Story (724 words)

While Nog remained in the little hollow of thicket, Madge decided, in her restlessness, to explore the snow-bound wood they had found. She couldn’t say why she was restless, but she felt a terrible longing that made her heart pound against her ribs. Without any fixed plan in her mind, she ventured away from her dam into the snow, taking great care to where she put her feet, listening for the slightest sound. Perhaps she was going mad. Sometimes, horses did, she knew. Her mother had told her tales of stallions and mares who had gone mad, but did they go mad in the snow? She didn’t know what made her feel so excited and afraid, didn’t know that her mother’s anxiety in the snow and the oncoming birth of the new foal had been communicating itself to her all that day before. She only knew that the howling wind made her want to leap and gallop madly over the snow-covered world and to neigh her heart into the gathering darkness.

The blizzard had laid a blanket of snow over the world, obscuring the layer of frost crystals that glittered in the light. The snow was lightening now. High above the trees, a keening wind blew stinging particles into the air. Occasionally, the clouds would rip apart, and a strange, golden light from the winter moon would stream down to earth, then disappear as though snatched away by the wind. Sometimes, it seemed as though there were voices in the wind, or in the trees writhing about in its path.

Madge’s brown and black coat made her invisible against the pines, peppermints and oaks. While she never felt completely safe, she felt hidden and free to explore this strange world of snow, tree, and wind. Her nostrils fluttered, but there was no scent on the cold wind. What was she searching for? Cautiously, she lifted her head and whinnied tremulously. The wind snatched her voice away almost instantly, but she heard, in the split second before, an answering call, high-pitched and faint. She almost thought it was a call for help.

She was certain that the voice did not belong to her mother.

She ventured in the direction of that call, whinnying occasionally. The trees were thinning as she came to the lower part of the valley. Distantly through the wind came the sound of rushing water, water flowing too swiftly to have quite frozen yet. The snow and the night prevented her from seeing out of the trees, but she sensed, rather than saw, a great space leading out, a hidden space that couldn’t be seen from the ridges, a space above where shelter and good food might be found.

The plaintive cry came again. Madge turned about, looking for the source, for it sounded almost near. When a grey shape rose underneath her nose, she squealed in sudden fear, propping about. Her hind legs struck out, nearly missing the tiny foal tottering on unsteady legs. Shocked the little filly craned her neck around, extending a trembling nose to the frightened foal.

He was muddy brown all over, not from mud but from his snow-stained coat. Parts of his legs, shoulders, and rump were frosted all over, for one day he would be a great, grey stallion. Strange black patched broke up the brown of his coat, and through his wisp of a mane and floppy tail ran streaks of liquid gold, shimmering even in the darkness. Magic gold, Madge realized. Like her, the foal was a Nordanner, a peafowl Nordanner like her ancestors long ago. Something ran through her heart, sharp and sweet like a knife gliding through skin, and she nickered gently to the little colt. He tottered towards her, seeking warmth, and for an instant, he rested his tiny head against her shoulder. Even then, the funny gray of his brown coat made him almost invisible in the driving snow, so invisible that Madge feared he was no more than some kind of ghost of her ancestors. Perhaps, she thought, the reason why this valley was empty was because the spirits of the past haunted it.

I’ll capture him with a name, she thought desperately. “Nimbus, I’ll call you,” she said to the tiny foal. “Nimbus for the great grey clouds of this winter storm.” And the foal nuzzled her affectionately.

Description

<< Previous Story --- Next Story >>

Featuring: A6170 Imagine That and A6788 Nimbostratus
Show: Remuda Livery Invitational
Class: Foal Frolics*

*Madge is not quite a yearling in this RPG, so she's technically still a foal, albeit a rather large one at this point!

Artist's Notes: Nimbus is a newborn foal in this scene/story. He will not have greyed out as completely as his adult ref. For the purposes of the storyline, I'm going to be gradually greying him out in my artwork. No refs. All my own work!

Story (724 words)

While Nog remained in the little hollow of thicket, Madge decided, in her restlessness, to explore the snow-bound wood they had found. She couldn’t say why she was restless, but she felt a terrible longing that made her heart pound against her ribs. Without any fixed plan in her mind, she ventured away from her dam into the snow, taking great care to where she put her feet, listening for the slightest sound. Perhaps she was going mad. Sometimes, horses did, she knew. Her mother had told her tales of stallions and mares who had gone mad, but did they go mad in the snow? She didn’t know what made her feel so excited and afraid, didn’t know that her mother’s anxiety in the snow and the oncoming birth of the new foal had been communicating itself to her all that day before. She only knew that the howling wind made her want to leap and gallop madly over the snow-covered world and to neigh her heart into the gathering darkness.

The blizzard had laid a blanket of snow over the world, obscuring the layer of frost crystals that glittered in the light. The snow was lightening now. High above the trees, a keening wind blew stinging particles into the air. Occasionally, the clouds would rip apart, and a strange, golden light from the winter moon would stream down to earth, then disappear as though snatched away by the wind. Sometimes, it seemed as though there were voices in the wind, or in the trees writhing about in its path.

Madge’s brown and black coat made her invisible against the pines, peppermints and oaks. While she never felt completely safe, she felt hidden and free to explore this strange world of snow, tree, and wind. Her nostrils fluttered, but there was no scent on the cold wind. What was she searching for? Cautiously, she lifted her head and whinnied tremulously. The wind snatched her voice away almost instantly, but she heard, in the split second before, an answering call, high-pitched and faint. She almost thought it was a call for help.

She was certain that the voice did not belong to her mother.

She ventured in the direction of that call, whinnying occasionally. The trees were thinning as she came to the lower part of the valley. Distantly through the wind came the sound of rushing water, water flowing too swiftly to have quite frozen yet. The snow and the night prevented her from seeing out of the trees, but she sensed, rather than saw, a great space leading out, a hidden space that couldn’t be seen from the ridges, a space above where shelter and good food might be found.

The plaintive cry came again. Madge turned about, looking for the source, for it sounded almost near. When a grey shape rose underneath her nose, she squealed in sudden fear, propping about. Her hind legs struck out, nearly missing the tiny foal tottering on unsteady legs. Shocked the little filly craned her neck around, extending a trembling nose to the frightened foal.

He was muddy brown all over, not from mud but from his snow-stained coat. Parts of his legs, shoulders, and rump were frosted all over, for one day he would be a great, grey stallion. Strange black patched broke up the brown of his coat, and through his wisp of a mane and floppy tail ran streaks of liquid gold, shimmering even in the darkness. Magic gold, Madge realized. Like her, the foal was a Nordanner, a peafowl Nordanner like her ancestors long ago. Something ran through her heart, sharp and sweet like a knife gliding through skin, and she nickered gently to the little colt. He tottered towards her, seeking warmth, and for an instant, he rested his tiny head against her shoulder. Even then, the funny gray of his brown coat made him almost invisible in the driving snow, so invisible that Madge feared he was no more than some kind of ghost of her ancestors. Perhaps, she thought, the reason why this valley was empty was because the spirits of the past haunted it.

I’ll capture him with a name, she thought desperately. “Nimbus, I’ll call you,” she said to the tiny foal. “Nimbus for the great grey clouds of this winter storm.” And the foal nuzzled her affectionately.