.convincemetogowith y o u .

[timeless××]

_katie

i'm not here to tell you my sob story.
but it doesn't mean i'm willing to hear yours either.

× I hate this. So. Much, she thought rebelliously. Why. Why is it always the fact that mares are always lapdogs to the big, strong, stupid stallion? Why in hell are mares always subhorses, never allowed off the leash for fear of losing precious property? Oh, by the name of Pfiffikus, what is wrong with this ridiculous theory that mares cannot hold supreme power? To limit our powers. To make us domestic, tame. To make us man's best friend. She sighed, and shook her head; she'd worked herself into a knot, again. She just hated how mares were always treated secondhandly and prejudiced, and stereotyped. It just wasn't fair. Was it their fault that some hot-headed dung-for-brains made mares property? No! And for all that a stag claims to love all thirty of his mares to his fullest extent, what were the chances of that being true? Oh sure, he might give them all special endearments, and they melt; but ti was all to keep them loving him, claiming they loved him more than others, those bird-dung-for-earwax saukerls.

× She already knew the type of stag that she would go with, if there was one with enough sense to fulfill her 'requirments' and and more. You could say she was being picky and selfish, but she was just making sure that she wouldn't wind up with a 'baby made of love' or whatever love-at-first-sight dung-heaps honey-coated the process of baby-making with. She might seem crabby and rude, but she does have a heart; she isn't a dark, who care for not but battle and blood. Really, what was the point? All the hassle for leadership and all the fuss over insults. Like a game, really. Back to the point. She wanted a stag who knew full well his limits, and was always honest. She wanted one who didn't do flattery, and didn't speak that rubbish Old English with all the 'm'lady' this and 'm'lord' that and all the 'lo' and 'forgive me' dung. She wanted one that kept a level-head, and was smart enough to know when a battle was lost. She didn't want a flirty or mushy stag, or one that only want a toy to drive. She cast a contemptuous look around. It seemed this world was chock full of the idiots she didn't want. Would there ever really be a stag she'd accept?

× She paused, and bent down to satisfy her stomach. The grass... well, she couldn't describe it in words like 'lush green emerald that swirled fresh in my mouth', but that was just plain stupid. It was grass, for heaven's sake. Food. Green stuff. Stuff that you ate so you won't feel hungry. Stuff that you would eventually poop or pee out again, even if you do do it out of everyone's view. Oh my gosh, get a grip, the higher-ups aren't going to make everything nice and neat for you later in life! She cast a look at the sky. Blue. Well, duh. What was anyone to expect? 'Bright sapphire, a blue like never before, spread across the neverending sky like a watercolor painting, with puffy mounds of cloud' Seriously. Some horses really have to much time on their hooves, to be able to spend hours sitting there, digesting that 'lush emerald grass' for excremential reasons, staring upwards and making their necks sore. What was the point? All she wanted was a sensible enough stallion to follow home, not some pretty words to make her life complicated.