Wolf RPG

Most wolves had dispersed from the gathering, allowing Mallow more room to range through the plains. She explored more as she grew more comfortable in her new home but always kept the herd in her peripheral, especially @Selenia. As far as the yearling knew, her sister was due any day now, and she would be there when the foal dropped.

A fresh blanket of snow and ice covered the landscape overnight, causing the ground to be slick and hard to walk on. For some time, Mallow slipped whenever she didn't shuffle her hooves. 

After looking at a hill in the distance, an idea came to mind: she could slide down it. Although it took a while for her to climb the ridge, she succeeded without falling.She lept into the air to get herself started down the hill and unintentionally bellyflopped onto the ground. She scrabbled once she landed, sliding down on her stomach with her legs splayed like a starfish and clenching her jaw as pain radiated from the point of impact. 

Yearlings.

She'd had three colts- and from enduring all the tests they put her through, she had learned patience- and that sometimes, it was just better to let them be silly and learn from their own mistakes rather than to try and guide them the whole way. 

Her first son had been the easiest; demure and kind, he'd never really put up much of a fuss or caused many problems with the other foals in the herd. Even his sire seemed to tolerate him, for a time. But when her second came around, she learned the flip side of the coin. He'd been an udder-biting, cow-kicking little rebel, who was as stubborn as a wild ass. Her third had been even worse- especially when he started looking up to his brother. 

Mallow was, for the most part, as fillies were- a bit more cautious, with a notion of sensibility. She never wandered too far, though Fancy constantly kept an eye on her regardless when she moved off on her own. Even wandering up a hill on her own could leave her vulnerable to whatever was on the other side- fortunately, Fancy had seen Maplesmoke wander that way earlier, so she felt the filly was protected. 

She lifted her head and chewed the mouthful of dry grass as she watched the filly's adventure unfold, hardly flinching as she landed hard on her belly and spun down the icy crust on her way down the hill. She came to a stop, and grimaced with pain. "Ahhhhh, colt's teeth," She swore softly under her breath. She meandered over toward the filly- not concerned about any immediate health risks, but she felt the filly was due some attention, at least. She sighed heavily. "Well- I give you about a seven out of ten, for style. Was it at least worth it?" She asked, flicking her ears forward.

Mallow keeled over in pain as Fancy approached, and the yearling watched the lead mare as her ears fell back. Had it been worth it? Yes and no. It was worth it at first when I felt like I was flying—but that was short-lived, and then it hurt, she lamented as she remained laying on the ground.

Do you think there's a way to do it so I don't land on my belly? she asked after a pause, hoping the older woman had some wisdom for this sort of situation.

In part, she envied the fact that the yearling was capable of crashing so hard onto her belly, and still want to try again at the risk of doing the same thing. Fancy felt certain she would bust a seam somewhere, or throw out a joint in her spine; her knees cracked when she unlocked them after a nap. Her withers shuddered at the thought of seeing the yearling try again with another mighty leap; the sensation of flying was often followed shortly thereafter by the sensation of falling. 

She lowered her head to gently nudge the grulla's side, hoping to get her to rise to her feet so the sorrel could check her for any sign of injury. She suspected she might bruise a bit; if she'd hit any rocks or frozen clumps of earth, she might have scrapes as well. 

"No," She answered flatly. She shook her neck, loosening up the strands of mane that clumped together in the cold. "Not unless you start on your belly, and it ain't worth carving up your hide for that," She said. "No amount of praying to Equus is going to get him to give us back our wings," She said.

Mallow slowly rose as Fancy nudged her and felt the sting of the chilly winter air hit the scratches on her belly. Ouch, she complained and winced. She hadn't realized that she had scratched herself until now and regretted sliding down the hill. Once on all fours, she shook off the snow she'd accumulated on herself on the way down.

Although she was disappointed to hear that there was no way to slide down the hill successfully, it was short-lived as her curiosity kicked in. Equus? she asked as her brows lifted, Who's that?

The yearling rose, and Fancy lowered her head to inspect her scrapes, chewing thoughtfully though she had nothing in her mouth. Nothing too serious, she thought, and she used her soft, stubbly lips to dust some of the show off where Mallow couldn't reach. 

An ear flicked at her question and she drew in a breath, exhaling it over the yearling's withers. "The god of all horses," She said, lightly surprised that Mallow had never heard the name before. "Did your herd not have a Dreamspeaker or a Storyteller?" She asked. "They're hard to come by, and good ones are even harder to find but still," She breathed, surprised. "I would have thought everyone would at least know the name Equus." The world was a changing place; their lore had thrived, once, but it seemed to dwindle now.

Mallow didn't have the faintest idea of what Fancy was talking about. No, she answered slowly, suddenly full of questions for the lead mare. They lingered on the tip of her tongue as there was talk of dreamspeakers and storytellers, and she grew even more intrigued; this part of the equine world had eluded her.

Can you tell me about him? she asked.

She snorted softly. While she had to acknowledge the fact that she had only ever been a part of one herd herself, she had lived alongside other bands, and had heard the same stories from their Storytellers as well. It seemed as though Mallow's herd might not have been privy to the same information- but at least she seemed willing to learn. 

She gestured for Mallow to start walking down the hill so they might be closer to the others. "There's lots to tell," She said with a bob of her head. "Equus is the creator of all horses, and the leader of the Herd of One Hundred and Five," She explained. "With the birth of the sun came the birth of all species; Equus was the first of the horses, Canis the first of all dogs and wolves, Felis the first of all cats, Avis the first of all birds- and so on and so on." She said. She knew many by name simply from having heard the story told by many Storytellers. 

"With the birth of the moon came partners for them each. Jehanna, for horses, Lunaris for canines, Alanis for cats, Vitaris for birds, and so on and so on. From them came the Breedmaster and Breedmistress of each breed, so that they might become unique and able inhabit many corners of the earth and survive with their unique shape, temperament and skills." She said. "For wild horses, our Breedmaster and Breedmistress are Copperhead and Mayflower; we are their descendants. With their breath, they brought our ancestors to life from seeds of the earth from all four cardinal points: Arctic Cotton Grass from the North, Trout Lilies from the East, Prickly Pear from the South and Wild Rose from the West. We're survivors, in all climates." She announced. 

"Equus, Jehanna and the Herd of One Hundred and Five live in the Goldenrealm; they watch over us from there, an' we can pray to them as we need. If you've been good, throughout your life, you'll go and run with them once you've passed through judgement." She said. "If you haven't, well-" She said with a snort. "That's another story."

When Fancy motioned to follow, Mallow obeyed as the storytelling began. There was a lot of information to digest, and she did her best to absorb everything she could. While she knew it was lore and didn't sell into the idea of it all, she was polite and didn't reject the information outright. Instead, since she was so curious, she couldn't help but ask: Do you have time to tell me what happens if you don't pass through judgment?

This, she was more interested in.

She chuckled, a soft, whickering sound, when the yearling expressed her curiosity. "Better you find out now," She drawled, scanning the horizon briefly out of habit. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled; finding nothing alarming or out of place, she exhaled softly. 

"What awaits you if you fail judgement is the Dark Horse; the only name we know him by is the one we scream when we die the most agonizing death," She said. She had heard the chilling scream before; it caused a shudder to ripple up her spine, so she shook her neck to ease the tension. "He has three servants, though they are typically hidden behind three gates and are only released to chase down souls who fail judgement and attempt to flee into the Green."

"The first is the traitor, Sycha- a grey mare, once Breedmistress to the Appaloosa, the first among the One Hundred and Five. She betrayed her duties, and was seduced by the Executioner, Anor...We'll get to him in a minute..." She said, distaste seeping into her words. "So she was banished and because of that, she lost her spots...And because of her, some of her descendants will be born an Appaloosa, but will fade to a grey or a dun when they reach adulthood." She had seen it happen before; it wasn't necessarily a remark on the horse's will or personality, but simply a trait passed down by the breed's tumultuous history. 

"Sycha now fills out her duty for the Dark Horse, and collects those who have failed, and who willingly accept their fate, and walks beside them into the darkness." She explained. "But not everyone is so compliant; some try to run, and get lost in the Green...Sort of a place of purgatory, I guess, but you can't stay there forever. If you wont go with Sycha, then the Hellhound, Scant, gets sent for you." She explained. 

"The Hellhound isn't nearly as cordial as Sycha, and will pursue and herd a horse to the dark gates himself; a massive, hairless, ugly, stinking beast- like a wolf, but worse, far worse." She explained. "Most are so scared witless by him that they go where he herds 'em. But some...The worst, anyway, might put up a fight- even against Scant. And that's when the Executioner gets sent out."

She paused, and gave the yearling a sidelong look. 

"Am I gonna get in trouble for giving you nightmares if I tell you the rest of this?"

Already learning from Fancy, Mallow paused to observe her surroundings for any danger and found nothing. Her focus returned to the lead-mare, and she exhaled softly through her nostrils, feeling comfort from the other's confirmation.

When the story continued, she became enthralled with it; it was unlike anything she'd heard before, and she devoured every word like it was a delicacy—until they got to the part about the Hellhound. She felt a shiver run along her spine at her mind's image of the beast, and her eyes grew wide. She quickly sought their immediate surroundings, expecting the creature to materialize right then.

"Am I gonna get in trouble for giving you nightmares if I tell you the rest of this?" Fancy cut in.

Mallow shook her head; it was a blatant lie. N-No! I'll be fine! she promised, her voice wavering.

She clomped her lips together a couple times, a sign of general amusement; her storytelling was going over well, she thought, as the most effective storytellers often took some grief from the caretakers for the crying of foals in the night-time from fearful stories and nightmares. Mallow was a year old though- and it was right for her to know that her actions in life might have consequences. Nightmarish tales could sometimes be enough to steer the most unruly children toward adopting better behavior. 

"Anor is his name; a great red steed with yellow, snake-eyes; fangs for teeth, and claws for hooves. His tail is a whip, and it makes a crack louder than thunder when he flicks it." She said. "He'll drag any wandering souls down to the darkness, and he's the one the Dark Horse puts in charge of doling out eternal punishment." She said. She flicked an ear, as if in irritation. "He's the reason us sorrels get such a bad reputation," She said, with a dry but bitter laugh.

 "Spawn of Anor!" She remembered being teased as a child, and how it caused her to grow stronger and tougher; once she'd become a yearling she'd put her heels to the sprightly colts who had taunted her, and had established herself within the herd. 

"So you've got choices to make, in your life, and you'll face them every day. So long as you're true to yourself and true to your herd, you'll cross through the Green to the Goldenrealm. Personally, I think you got nothin' to be afraid of," She said, running her muzzle over the grulla's withers.

When Fancy's story ended, and the sorrel moved to comfort her, she stood there, frozen in fear. The mental image of Anor was enough to give her nightmares; it was the most revolting thing she'd heard and scared her silly.

And they don't just appear outta nowhere, right? she asked, looking up with wide eyes.