FleetHoof
A shattered life to break through,
With a broken spirit to catch

The mustang stallion's limbs brought him onto the land of the ranch. He had no clue where he was; the last thing he had done was run away from some wierd wolfess who claimed that she had a human child as a pup. He didn't know what this world was coming to, but it was sure beginning to bother him. And where were the wild humans? He was an ex-Indian horse, you could say, and was missing the soft contact of their hands. He wanted to go on a hunt with them again, or at least be ridden for a joy ride. This new life was so boring now, in this strange valley. The animals here were entirely messed up! In his mind, wolves had pups, and not humans.

With a snort, he changed his course and headed toward the large building-- something he had no clue of to what it was. He only knew that it was some high-tech teepee that humans lived in-- or at least the more civilized ones did.

Feeling quite interested, yet confused, he stepped to the porch, and stared at it with a blank expression. These two-leggeds sure were strange. He then gathered enough courage and placed both forehooves on the second step, auds pricked. I wonder... he thought to himself, flicking his banner as he stepped up to the top, lifting his hindlegs and carefully placing his hooves on the steps, as he had done with his forehooves. He sighed, and looked around, making sure no one was watching, especially not any canines. He could smell them; the scent was incredibly strong on the wind. He finally stepped up so that all four hooves were firmly placed upon the porch, a few feet away from the door. He stared at that as well, wondering what it was. Then he figured the humans used it to enter and leave, but then there were the windows... He sighed, realizing that his head was beginning to hurt from all this. He shook his mane and released a loud neigh right after. He stayed still though, having his mind set on attracting the humans that lived here, and he would bash any canines' muzzle in that tried to get in his way.

FLEETHOOF
Ex-Indian Horse

HERITAGE;
100% Mustang
CURSED;
Stallion
HUED;
His pelt is mostly liver chestnut with some white, but he is colored as an overo, with a white strip that runs up his face from his nose to his forehead. His mane and tail are stringy, and are made up of blonde but mostly of the same hue as his pelt. His eyes are deep brown, but often look black.
BUILT;
His size is of medium height, and is completely sturdy with excellent footing. His build is rather muscular, but not too bulky; just right, in other words. He has very strong limbs from living among all of the varying regions of mountain and prairie, and has a firm and perfectly proportioned frame. He can run for very long distances without tiring quickly and can pack a mean bite or kick.
RESIDES;
Tall Grass Prairie
LOVER;
No one
KIN;
None

The teenager was returning from their hay field after assessing the growth of the new plants. Giant rolls of the dried plants weres scattered across the small field from their recent harvest. A second harvest would begin in August, and combined, would provide enough hay for the horses during the winter.

John had been exceptionally quiet and distant lately, but his spirit had not been totally crushed by his father's death. Rather, he had been searching for some outlet for his hatred. He had tried to ride Nass on hunting trips, but the poor little stallion was too fiesty and flighty around wolves now, after all the experiences he had gone through. Staple was calm, but she wasn't the quickest horse, nor the most sure-footed. Not a good thing when wanting to harry down wolves, or run from them. Which ever was neccessary. The rest of the horses here were being kept for friends or other people, and the last thing John wanted to do was to tell them he accidentally got their horse killed while trying to hunt wolves to avenge his father.

Trudging along a fourwheeler trail that led out through a thicket of brambles and low-growing locust trees, John was startled to see a horse standing on their porch. He stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes, as if they might be playing tricks on him. Then he began to walk forward, cautiously, slowly. "Hey there, were'd you come from?" The teen spoke out, softly. From the looks of it, this stallion had obviously been owned before. That, or he was incredibly brave and curious. Still moving slowly, John approached the porch and lifted his hand to touch FleetHoof's muzzle. He was ready to spring aside if the stallion proved aggressive or frightened.

FleetHoof had once been an Indian horse, as everybodu already knows, but being an Indian horse, you did many things that others didn't. You could go on hunts; yes, FleetHoof had gone on very many hunts, all over the place, and that included mountains, and over prairies, through the woods... He had gone over just about every kind of terrain. He had even been ridden over eskers before, but it was only once. He didn't know why he was never ridden over them again; he had done pretty well. Stumbled a couple times, but never fell or was injured. But maybe that's why they never did after that-- he could injure him, and get a broken leg, or be trapped by some wild animal or something. Anything could happen out there, and FleetHoof knew it all. And then being a completely wild horse now, he had time to practice and do the same things he used to do, but it was extremely boring, since he didn't have any human with him.

With a deep sigh, thinking the humans weren't home, he began to turn around after a brief moment of staring hard at the door. He wasn't getting anywhere at all with this, but that's when he was proved wrong. Just as his eyes landed on the scenery surrounding him, his eyes were snatched up by some familier shape off to the corner, and he was astonished to see what it was. A human! But not one of the Indians... With a deep sigh, his auds pricked as the human started toward him, and he took a single step backward, but that was it. He felt extremely confident about this, so stayed put. No way would he be scared by a human. Well, if they were mean, perhaps he would be, but he'de whip their butts if they were either way. He was smart like that.
FleetHoof watched John carefully as he stepped up to him, and lifted one of his hands. A forehoof was lifted and then stomped hard onto the proch flooring, making a loud CLONKing noise, and it silently startled FleetHoof, but he kept his cool. He allowed the man to touch him, just the way he had allowed the young human child at the prairie. He was tense at first, but a few seconds afterward, he calmed down and stood there peacefully, but then went to sniffing John and taking in his new scent. Certainly not a human of the wilds, but every human was pretty much the same, except for their lifestyle. Or could he be wrong? Whichever it was, Fleet decided that they all were technically alike, but through his times, he had seen fat civilized humans, and in Fleet's eyes, he wouldn't want one of those giant things on his back. No way. That was only one way humans were different. Size, shape, looks, personality... Everything Fleet could think of was usually different than others.
A light, content sigh slipped from his nares as they flared, still taking in the new scent, while every sense he had was also alert for any lurking danger.

The borzoi wolf mixed watched as a horse entered the land. Quickly she became angry and afraid at the same time. Her eyes began to water and she whimpered a howl of warning. Then watched as the human approached the horse. She quickly limped after the human to ensure safety.

Her hind leg was limp with a large bulge at where DustDevil had snapped it in half. She would never be able to walk on it right againg. Slowing her pace at the stallion she lowered her head and growled in pain. "Don't hurt him please" She whimpered, keeping her eye on the horse. She wouldn't be so stupid and carefree this time. She had lost her best friend to a horse, she wouldn't lose to one now.

Soft blue orbs turned to John and she waddled up behind him. She stayed standing so she'd be able to run if the horse tried to attack her. Her wolfish head looking down while her borzoi body stiffened in fear. Her growls stopped but she wouldn't let her guard down... not at all. "Luxis..." She cried softly and teared up.. then straightened her look. Trying not to let pain overwhelm her judgment.

"So, you are friendly." The teen said, petting the stallion's nose before reaching his hand out to pat his neck. It was mostly to see how use to handling FleetHoof was. He was cautious still, doing his best to interpret the horse's body language for fear or agression. "I don't remember hearing anything about a missing horse, now. But you've deffinitely been in contact with people before."

Just then, he noticed Runi and was surprised to see her wounded leg, "Woah there, what happened to you?" John turned and knelt down slightly, while reaching his hand out to stroke her head in a comforting manner. "I'll have to let my mom see that." His brows were furrowed with concern, and for a moment, he stood pondering what he should do next. Runi was certainly in need of help, but then he couldn't just leave this horse standing around on his porch.

John stepped down from the porch and make some clucking noises with his tounge, "Come on, now. Maybe you want a carrot or something?" He planned on leading FleetHoof to their small pasture behind the Barn, until he could get some help for Runi. "Come on, then." He called again, turning back to see if the horse would follow him or not.

The borzoi wolf hybrid whimpered and lowered her head as the boy bet her. Licking her lips gently as he looked to her wound. It was in the healing process but obviously healing wrong.

She began to follow the boy as he tried to coax the horse into the pasture. Feeling she would get help if she followed. Of course the limp was a horrid one, but she was able to keep up.