The Call to the Mare
If you were a horse... you’d be a stallion running across the cape rock along the ridges of the high lonesome. Your match is a wild mustang mare, who would run beside you... not ahead of or behind...
A wild mustang mare catches a scent on the breeze, her head lifts from her grazing, no longer interested in the lush green grasses upon the prairie. Something older than time itself has stirred her senses. Scanning the horizon as the wind blows her mane in front of her eyes, she snorts and breaks from the herd as she wheels around and finds her legs carrying her in the opposite direction. A lone equine call breaks the silent, echoing against the canyon walls. The call of a stallion, silluetted against the cape rock, along the ridges of the high lonesome. Tossing his head he stands, waiting, pawing the ground, anxious, impatient for the mare to close the gap between them.
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