Panthura

She had traveled far, wide, sideways and backwards. Laying a frustrated huff against the swaying grasses, she came to a stop. Her body black, capturing the ribbons of light glistening off the sun, illuminating against her shadow-skin. She let her long dark limbs sprawl into the copper toned fields, her nose exploring every inch of the warm blades. How light, everything, it was just glowing. It uneased her. Those glass-eyes nervous shifted back and forth, muscles trembled. She let a frustrated snort quiver out her flexed nostrils, her tail slashing against those curved hips.

The agitation grew heavier on her mind, and soon my panther-child was neck deep in dreary mood. The gloom of her eyes began to return, and the natural ‘la miserable’ expression settled coldly onto her façade. Curiously she touched the long skeleton trunks, scraping her ribs down the side of their rough bark, much like a cat begging for food. Boredom would set in, but not too soon, all to quickly she would find herself with company — now what would she ever do with such a thing as company? She felt squirmy as the stench of others crawled awkwardly up her nose.

Here we go.

P A N T H U R A.
flesh against flesh,
skin and bone..

flint

Purple hued skies, golden sun, sweet grass. This had been the life Flint had known, he had thrived upon from the first breath in his small lungs. From the unstable terrain of the mountains to the soft sand underneath hardy hooves, Flint had lived here. In the land of perils and hazard, Flint had found tranquility among the call of the lone wolf. A life of being lonely was seldom fun, and Flint had been wandering across fire-crushed prairies and barren woodlands alone. Pelt matted with the fresh scents of pine and sea salt. A regal stallion, but in such a handsome way.

Longing brought him back to his birthplace, the land of the golden grass and the whispering winds. Flint traveled relentlessly to relocate the land of his foalhood and freedom. Uncertainty lead him across the land, not knowing how much the valley had changed since his last travelthrough. After three seasons of lounging near Orca Bay, Flint was ready for a change. Traveling across the prairie at a breackneck gait, Flint paid no heed to those on the prairie. Hooves pounding the ground, Flint charged up a bluff and reared high. Hooves slashed the air, his eyes rolled back into his skull. Neighing loudly, Flint slammed back onto the earth, breath labored. Flint's sides heaved, and he took a momentary glance at the landscape. Not seeing Panthura quit yet, Flint relaxed, lathery shoulders flexing. Flint lowered his head to graze, still ignoring the mare, not by purpose but by accident. He wasn't the type to check out his surroundings thoroughly.

PANTHURA.

Panthura was distractedly focusing on the horse-flies she was currently under siege by. Those laced onyx ears pressed forward, the buzzing started to drill through her skull, jaws gritted against each other as she lunged at one — she caught it. Front toes severing momentarily from terra firma, spiraling back down into a cloud of dust, throat heaving coughs of disgust. “BLEGHCK!” It was not an act of humor, or a cute pose for attention, no, she had a fucking HORSE-FLY in her mouth…gross.

While Thura tended to her consequences of her recently launched attack…there was a boy standing by. Neither of them noticed each other, but you can bet your ass he sees her now…op, too late. Her hollow eyes, deep emerald and glossy as they pasted over the stranger…the image filtered through her quickly paced mind. Her muscles stiffened, nostrils blowing a loud and prominent ‘huff’ towards him. “And you are?” It was blade-sharp against the soft warm hair, cold into the once somber atmosphere. She was not intentionally so brash, it was just the melody of her voice, the smooth sultry tone — laced with notes of danger and aggression. She was a hazard in herself, enticing.

flint

Flint was unexpecting a sound, and Flint flinched, pivoting hard to see where that source of the sound had come from. Naturally, Flint's blood was pumping and the adrenaline maddened him. But the wiseness of living in this land was more powerful then his naturality and he saw Panthura. Flint bore hard into the mare's gaze, before much persuasion adverted his gaze from her's. Flint looked at the onyx colored mare, looking at her sleek and slender bodice with lust. So beautiful, so lusious, so sexy. Flint tried to take control of his horomones, deciding to answer the mare's question sooner or later.

"I am Flint," Flint replied in a cool, authoritive voice that was a slick as grease. Pelt was brushed and kissed by the wind, stroking the brawny stallion's flesh. Muscles rippled underneath a silken coat as he shifted his weight uneasily in the prescence of the filly. A deep, baritone chuckle erupted from his throat as he spoke, "The question now is, m'lady, who are you?"

PANTHURA.

Panthura watched as the smoky stallion slithered forward. Her curves hugged tighter and her eyes seemed fiercer. She stepped forward with a sultry purr, tail snapping from side to side; like a playful cat. Her body melded with the gloomy shadows — eyes deep and green, sharply focused on the roan male. She let a feminine chuckle break from her lips, head tilting sideways to reveal only half of her raven face. “Well hello, Flint…” He spoke on, and she listened, her expression becoming more coy as the minutes pressed on. “M’lady?” She mocked him in ever sense of the word, stepped forward with another audible purr. “Panthura is my name, m’boy.” A sly grin creased those silky black lips.

The atmosphere was blank, warm, and getting darker. The sun was setting behind the pair of horses — Panthura could feel the night pressing the moon down into hiding. She awaited the moon with anticipation; her eyes missed her during the day, the glow of her against the emerald green of her marble eyes.

Flint

Muscles rolled sluggishly underneath his pelt as he dared to step closer to the mare. Her sarcasm sent shivers down his spine, and he forced his stare into hers. For a moment, it felt as though he could fly. But Flint knew that him driving on the fact that true love was at first sight could hurt in him the end. Flint gave a deep chuckle, looking up at the sky that was now hued a dark blue color, with a rainbow of colors near the falling sun. "Beautiful, huh?" Flint asked after a long pause, almost forgetting Panthura was within his prescence.

PANTHURA.

A grin surpassed as he spoke to her, referring to the sky, a smear of grays and blues. “It’s ok…” She watched him for a moment, mimicking his relaxed demeanor, lowering her own head to clutch the wasps of long grass. Minutes passed between them, silence loamed peacefully amongst the area — something Panthura was not exactly used to when she was in the presence of another, especially a stallion. And so, inevitably, it would not last long at all.

“So where do you live?” Panthura is too much business. The sharp melody of her voice smacked the silence like pimp to hoe, her long wispy black tail curled around each hip; her look sly and calm, watching the roan boy as she questioned him.

Flint

Flint did not glance at her when he voice penetrated the serene silence that encompassed them. Flint continued to look at the sky, and gazed towards the first evening star. Flint thought a moment, trying to figure how he'd answer that. "I live on the mountains. The Opake Mountains," Flint replied softly, not registering why he had left his home to come here. But, boy, he was glad he did. It had gotten lonely at the mountain tops.

Flint looked at Panthura now, his hazel eyes glimmered underneath the soft glow of the moon as it peeked at the world. "Where do you live, miss Panthura?" Flint asked idly, trying to mimick her all-business tone. It was sheerly in humor, but Flint knew sometimes it wasn't fun to mock others. It could wind down to blood shed. Flint knew, he had been a bachelor before. He had been that lonesome fellow

PANTHURA.

Panthura swiped her inky lips against the bright emerald blades, a single ear laid backwards and the other towards Flint. “I don’t live anywhere…” It’s true. Her tone serious, her dark green eyes even more brash than her statement. Her tail swashed with the agitation of her situation — being homeless was more than surely annoying. The black mare just hadn’t found a place, a purpose; not that she desperately and devoted searched for such a thing.

She grabbed another jawful and brought those demurred eyes back up to the roan stallion, her face blank of idea, emotion and expression. She seemed lost, but abrasive, her form tense and unforgiving. Her frame intense; inviting, but venomous. Another jawful, and her eyes slid to the horizon, her lung drawing in a deep but non-dramatic sigh.

flint

Flint stared at the mare with a slip of pity, it must be lonely not knowing a place to call home. Flint debated on what to say next, but the next words came out naturally. "Do you want a home?" Flint questioned creamily, thick forelock slipping into his eyes giving him a scruffy look. Flint flexed his shoulders, trying to avoid Panthura's seductive actions. If Flint was a cruel, heartless stallion, he would've taken no time in just merely hustling Panthura to his home and claim her his mare. But, no, Flint was not like this in any way.

The roan stallion brought himself to stand tall, legs square underneath his brawny body. Cuts and scratches married his legs, though the agony was no bother to the juvenile stallion. It was not long ago, Flint was part of a bachelor band when he abadoned them in hopes to find a home and family. Success did not run far for Flint, and Panthura was the first mare he had stumbled across.