“With rakish steps, a young bay colt trotted about the small, overgrown field. The morning sun birthed golden rays of light that flooded the hills in sweet hues of pale gold, and misty hazel. The clouds, lit a lucid, creamy color, cast crisp, cool shadows on the pelt of the land; laying them over the dewy meadows, and the bristling fence that corralled the small human field.
The colt, raising a damp muzzle, kicked back his hind-legs and cantered unevenly about, trampling strong-smelling heather, lavender, Bermuda, and fresh clover under his tiny, dancing hooves. Big, liquid dark eyes took in the shifting effect of the wind in the taller hay-stalks, and the dripping water that leaked from the round petals of the clover; the fast-melting dew that satisfied the earth of its thirst. A sheet of frosty mist blew over the field, ruffling the grass and making the colt stop, thwacking his short tail against his flanks in protest to the sudden cold; but then the blanket of mist was gone, hurried away by the cool, clear morning breeze.”
~
Just something I wrote for no particular reason. I call the colt Fyrus.
