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Date Posted: 13:38:11 07/08/05 Fri
Author: Mistress Of Puppets
Subject: Mists o' time

Ebon daggers plunged upon the hardened terra, no hooves had been here in quite some time, so what had draen her to this terra? Had it been it's lust green grass? It was quite tasty to Mist's parched lips, as she grabbed at the lust sprouts, nipped at the bright flowers. Such a wonderous taste. She was so greatful for something to parch her hunger.
Sloyly she began to move forward t'words the trickling of a small stream. With no thought at all Mist plunged her dile into the water and took a long and deep drink of the refreashing Aqua.
So there was a heaven upon this cold place she had known as earth. Cold, and full of hate. She had come from a small farm where the horses had been trained in the war like arts. They had been trained to follow the slightest command, just so that the knight upon their back could consentrate upon the task ahead, weather it be a charging oppenet or a troublesome foot soilder.
Then the small farm had been captured, the horses taken as a spoil of war, the ones deemed to small or to weak were turned lose into the wild, such had been the case with the petite angloarab.
Yet she was a prime example that looks could be deciving.

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