paintcd-blog

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whaT THE FUCK TUMB L R ? ?!

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            ❝       I SET FIRE TO THE RAIN, WATCH IT                          BURN AS I TOUCH YOUR FACE.         ❞

                                        independent rain from dreamwork’s spirit.                                                                  written by mal.

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    my rules are up ! c:

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       often times the mare FOUND herself roaming the lands, though she never encountered another tribe. rain was UNSURE, sapphire eyes cautious yet KIND. the voice projected was soothing, however, her nostrils FLARED with uncertainty. and yet, the paint remained in her spot, WAITING -- allowing the indian women a CHANCE. 

+ @paintcd

This horse, where did it come from and why was she here? It was the most beautiful animal she has ever seen, and that’s saying something. Standing a few feet from the other she slowly reached a hand towards her. “Shh..It’s alright sweetie I’m not going to hurt you.”

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            ❝       I SET FIRE TO THE RAIN, WATCH IT                          BURN AS I TOUCH YOUR FACE.         ❞

                                        independent rain from dreamwork’s spirit.                                                                  written by mal.

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       oceanic hues WANDER the plains, timid breeze tossing her cream mane about. the paint mare lifts her nose -- nostrils FLARING with the scent of fresh water. delicate eyes shift to the stallion at her side, the nip causing no surprise to blossom in the mirrors to her soul. her mouth PULLS into a soft smile, knowing how RIGHT spirit was in this regard. shifting her weight onto the LEFT side of her body, painted fur BUMPING against sunkissed skin.     

        ❝  we have not --- you’re right. ❞ a innocent fact, tail BRUSHING against his; unassuming intentions crossed her mind, and the mare abruptly WENT with it. bumping her soft nose against his toned neck, she threw up her body in the form of a REAR, before taking off with an ecstatic whinny. her gaze was CAST behind her, mane and tail FLOWING like silk in the wind, lids lowered in a GORGEOUS aura.

     It was times like THESE where he was thankful that she chose to stay by his side. Too often the guilt would crawl up on him, making him question his own DECENCY by presenting her with an ultimatum instead of letting himself make the choice ( the herd or the tribe – - but really, what was the only option he could choose? ). Yet reinforced reassurance had made his fears settle, if only a little, and he could NEVER begin to tell how he adored the sight of her mane blowing in the wind every time he let his glance inevitably shift to the feisty paint beside him. It’s that same exact mane that he reaches out and NIPS, affectionately tugging at a golden tress as the mischief already glints in his eyes. 

      ‘ we haven’t stretched our legs in a while. ‘

( @paintcd liked for a starter ) 

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List of favourite movies (no order) → 12/? Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron

As wild and reckless as thunder over the land. Racing with the eagle. Soaring with the wind. Flying? There were times I believed I could.

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                              They say that the history of the west was written from the saddle                                      of a horse, but it’s never been told from the HEART of one. 

                                                                         Not till now.

*( Personals DO NOT reblog. )