|
|
Post by ○•Striker•○ on Aug 8, 2010 16:10:51 GMT -5
It was auction day, and tension was running as high as the temperature. Sales had been going on since the sun rose that morning, and were still unfinished as that bright star was beginning to set. The earth was still warm, holding strong the oppressive feeling of a humid day. A black dog suffered beneath a trailer, humans and horses alike passing by in a steady parade. The powerful smell of sweat greeted all those who got close to the auction house; the sight of sticky hides commonplace by noon. It had been a hectic day, and even as it began to wind down, a thousand different things seemed to be going off at once.
Standing in a cramped stall, his legs tired and sore from pounding at the four walls that pinned him in, a large stallion shivered with agitation. Flies bit at his skin, sending ripples shooting up across his toned body. His tail absently swat at them, almost subconsciously. In all reality, the stallion did not feel them. He was numb, for the time being. He tried to run from this hell, tried to fight it as he was cornered, but had exhausted all forms of energy he had within him. He didn't know what to do anymore. So he stood there, staring blindly ahead, his breath shallow, and even held at times when a human passed by his stall. It wouldn't be long now before he was put out there; it wasn't the first time he had been sold off. But would it be the last?
A large, burly man with a defining scruff of hair hanging from his chin appeared at his stall. His eyes trailed over the stallion, a small smile forming as he went. But as his gaze turned to the tattered holding stall, the smile vanished, swallowed whole by his pursed lips. What a shame. He muttered, shaking his head as he moved to open the stall door, a lead rope in hand. Come on, boy. His voice was rough, calloused, but not unkind. Relentingly, the stallion held still as the rope was attached to his halter, pausing only once as he was lead out of the stall.
They moved quickly down the aisle of the mostly empty barn, some humans already cleaning up from the day's previous tenants. Many looked up to see the stallion pass, occasionally whistling in approval. But as the stag saw the brightly lit ring come into focus, he could think of nothing more than the horror he felt. Passing under two pieces of cloth meant to shield the barn entrance from the ring placed directly off it, the stallion felt these fears become suddenly very real.
One of the last picks of the night, folks and he's a stunner! The microphone roared to life in a split second, agitating the stallion even more. Still held by a steady hand at the end of his lead, the horse was left to dance idly in confusion and fear along the ring's dirt floor. Strike of Silver, eight years, purebred intact Quarter Horse stallion! Lovely Cremello on him, folks! The large horse feigned rearing, but was quickly brought down to scuffle about more. Lets hear those bids folks, can I get any takers for this fine stallion here tonight?
Strike of Silver
Eight Years Old
Intact Male
Trained in Western & Endurance Racing [/i][/size][/blockquote] |
|
|
|
Post by REKORRA on Aug 8, 2010 19:15:32 GMT -5
Driving in his pick up listening to Brad Paisely was Dylan Bennett. He was new to this town and was driving around to see what all there was to do. Up ahead, he noticed lights and a crowd of people surrounding something. Curious, he parked his Ford truck and hopped out, walking toward everyone and making his way through the crowd. There in the ring was a beautiful Quarter Horse stallion, one that Dylan really wanted. Listening, he raised his hand. "$1500!"
|
|
|
|
Post by ○•Striker•○ on Aug 8, 2010 20:45:37 GMT -5
$1500! The voice was distant, as if being hollered from the back of the crowd. $1500! The larger, metallic voice echoed, repeating it several times as if questioning who had said it before. I've got $1500 for this lovely stallion! Do I hear any challenging bids? Any higher? Strike struggled more, actually getting his front hooves off the ground before being pulled back down. There were some grumbles amongst the crowd, words he had heard before. Spooky horse. A man mumbled, only agitating him more. Snorting, he stomped his hooves into the dirt, his ears pinned back. He's awful pretty though. It was a woman this time, worn and gentle.
The stallion wanted out, out and far away from this place. So many scents and sights he did not know; they suffocated him. He wished for a wide open space, somewhere where he could stretch his legs and run. The man holding his lead loosened the tight hold he had, giving the rope more slack, as if understanding the stallion's plight. Pulling back a bit, Strike bucked slightly, going about the ring as if being lunged. He was looking for a way out, but none seemed to provide themselves. $1500, folks! Do I have any one else out there with their eye on this boy? |
|
