Post by Zax on Jun 20, 2010 15:22:09 GMT -5
Jigsaw
It was cold, so very cold. The chill sank through the thick winter coat and down into his bones, and it was simply amazing. The way, in any direction was hard to see. A mist, or fog, as it was, covered the city, and all was quiet in the morning. Snow layered the ground, crunching underfoot as it was crushed. The sound of a beat was muffled, but not obliterated by the snow, which was far from just a thin layer this late into winter. In reality, it was quite risky to be moving very quickly in conditions like this. Ice easily hid under the frozen water, which was a danger in itself. The beat was a four count, and the tempo was quick, almost a frenzied pounding. The sound of this tempo could easily be heard through the city, if you were close enough, and listening hard enough. It was a haunting thing to hear, the joy that the beat conveyed. In a city that was dead, at least at first glance, the sound of ice crunching under pounding hooves was a clear sign of life.
In the pale dawn light, it was the white patches that seemed to float in the inky background that was speeding through narrow streets, over slippery ground at neck break speed, that were seen first. As the light grew, the white patches of nothing, became markings on a dark stallion, whose winter coat grew thick and fuzzy, and his breath puffed out in a steam, like long abandoned trains. In the fog, the mist, he created shadows to race with, in a way that was pure imagination. In his mind's eye, he saw the mist take forms, the forms of other horses, nothing more than creatures made from fog, featureless. They raced beside him, urging him to go faster, to test his luck against the slick roads, a danger unto themselves. The apparitions, said nothing, as they raced along. Snorting, the stallion tossed his head, rounding another street corner, black tresses streaming behind him, proud.
Eventually, as all wonderful and good things do, it had to end. His breath came sharp, like a dagger slipped between his ribs, tearing into his lungs. Sweat darkened the bright white spots that marred a inky coat, and though light blue eyes shone with a feral joy at running free, strong legs shook with the effort of keeping him moving forward, let alone standing. The apparitions slowly dissipated, fading slowly at first, and then all at once. His silent friends disappeared like they had come, silently, and without emotion to spare. Slowing to a walk, black sides heaving painfully, the painted stud moved through the silent city. He had always enjoyed a good sprint through this silent city in the morning, and the colder, the better. More importantly, the colder, the more dangerous. How long had he been here? Since winter set in, he was sure. After the first snow, he had honestly been a little reluctant to leave the city, the deep forest the closest he would go to leaving. As he walked, stretching used and tired muscles, he thought aloud to himself, " Just what the hell are you doing here, Jigsaw? Just what, exactly?" The silence that rang after his rhetorical question, nagged on him. Snorting, the black and white stallion, tossed his head, and continued on his way, not happy, not by any shot, but content, he just might be. As the birds began to wake, and the sun peeked through a think blanket of clouds for just a moment, before winking out. It wouldn't hurt, he supposed, to have just a bit of company. The recluse in him recoiled at the thought, itching in irritation. He Jigsaw wasn't keen on other horses, but he needed something to keep him sane. Not that company would happen any time soon.
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OoC: I enjoyed this!
Complete?: Yes!
Muse level: Full
Open/
Word Count: 657