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Date Posted: 07:46:52 07/18/03 Fri
Author: Pharaoh's Daughter
Subject: ...winds blow 'cross the desert sands...

Name: Pharaoh’s Daughter
Nickname: Aida
Breed: Egyptian Arab
Age: 3
Gender: filly
History: Aida’s sire is the lead stallion of the Shining Face of Time herd of Egypt and her dam is the Arabic sheik’s daughter of the Winds of the Desert Sands tribe. She is, therefore a true Egyptian Arab. Her parents met when they were traveling, and became mates. Aida’s mother, Daughter of the Winds, a midnight black, died giving birth to her. Her father, Hourglass of the Sun, a fiery chestnut, yet lives, leading the great herds of Egypt. Hourglass of the Sun could not bear to speak of Daughter of the Winds to his daughter. Aida grew up being ridiculed by her half-siblings, as no one knew who her mother was, and she was thought to be a “bastard child.” None dared to say these things around the great Hourglass, but behind his back, Aida was never left alone. And so at the young age of two, Aida set out to find out the truth about her mother , and her mother’s people. She traveled a great distance, and found that she was the granddaughter of the great sheik Winds of the Desert, a huge steel gray, leader of the Winds of the Desert Sands tribe. Her mother’s people welcomed her with open arms, and she stayed with them until she turned three. Then she decided it was time for her to make her own way, and she now wanders, looking for a place to call her own.
Personality: You must discover her personality for yourself.
Pic: http://www.araliaarabians.com/photos/rash8.jpg

Dark pools with the fire of the desert winds burning in them survey her surroundings, small sculptured ears flicking rapidly in all directions, sensing for danger, the midnight teacup muzzle tipped toward the sky, ebon nostrils flaring. She walks quietly, midnight pistons taking her smoothly over the grassy ground, long, silky mane streaming down her graceful arched crest like frothy rapids. Her exquisite tapered dish, fleetness of foot, slender limbs, and lithe graceful neck show her as a Daughter of the Wind. She was born of the desert sands, she races with the wind, she drinks the breeze. The wind is her safety, her solace, her friend. She throws snowy face with its glossy coal velvet muzzle, flinging her soul into a wild, clear whinny, a challenge. The wind answers with a eager gust, and the filly kicks of her heels and whirls away, racing, running with the wind, flying so swiftly that her slim limbs seem not even to touch the ground, leaving the gale far behind. She slows and allows the gust to swirl her snowy rivers so that they ripple into her face. A scent comes to her nostrils and she stands perfectly still, waiting, the breeze whirling her ivory locks on her alabaster crest

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