Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(2 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

Just the forelock

Short story I wrote about a character I may be putting into a new fantasy (ish) story ĎThe desert mareí.

She watched. Watched its graceful movements, its fluid lines. The beauty in the curve of its neck, the clip of itís pace. Oh, but to run with it! The feeling of the wind on youíre face, in youíre hair. The temptation was too much. Atop her steed she walked sedately down the dune. The chestnut halted itís frolicking its ears standing erect, tail flickering nervously. The desert sand whipped around their legs as they regarded each other. Chestnut sent out a whining call to the strange newcomer, took a few steps forwards and then a few more backwards. Smiling she pressed her own steed forwards a few steps, turning to the side slightly. Chestnut shook her mane, snorting slightly, her ears going down she advanced once more scenting the air continuously watching for an ambush, but none came.

She spurred on suddenly, breaking into a run and as she did she heard the hoof beats of the lonely chestnut behind her, catching, gaining. The race was on and she laughed aloud. As they galloped side by side she raised her hands to the sky and felt the wind whipping and became lost in the freedom of the thing. They weaved their way further and further into the dunes and all time around them was lost as they three became a trinity of beings, joined in thought and heart. The land darkened around them and they slowed to a walk. She swung down from her own mare and walked slowly toward chestnut, who stood sedately, watching with thoughtful deep brown eyes. The depth of thought was unmistakable; a wondering that would never be answered.

Chestnut fell within a moment of the blow, her blood staining the dunes as it flowed from her throat. She hardly moved, barely registered even as her life drained away. Chestnuts eyes lost the lustrous depth that they had once held and simply became eyes, the eyes of a dead mare. She wiped her dagger blade on a scrap of white cloth watching as it turned a deep garnet. Then with the razor edge she cut the forelock from the mares head. Looking down almost sadly she remounted her horse and headed back to the oasis campfire.


Me!? Weird!? Never!!


The following comments are for "Just The Forelock (Short)"
by abbie

Pretty good descriptive section, it sounds like it could quite easily grow into a large piece.

( Posted by: Crofty [Member] On: April 17, 2002 )

desert mare
Still sorting out character creation for some of the others but this girls nearly finished. just got to re screw a few of her twisted morals before she turns totally norman bates on me :)

( Posted by: Abbie [Member] On: April 19, 2002 )

You've got a good start here :). I like your character, she is believable and you left this part open to opportunities

( Posted by: Crofty [Member] On: May 18, 2003 )

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.