``200km/h in the w r o n g lane

[soviet !]

It was certainly a dramatic scene over-viewing the grassy stretches of waste land. The clouds had rolled and bunched together like ominous floral decorations across the moody sky. Despite the grimace provoking weather a few beams of sun shone through to the earths, and the wind ran her fingers through the long tussocks of grass that grew here. The lighting made the mountains in the background appear almost purple, and the grass shimmered between a silvery green to almost a muddy brown. It was something out of a epic adventure, except the only occupant of the field thus far, was not particularly impressed with the views.

Sawyer did not find beautiful landscapes remotely interesting; in fact, there wasn't much she did find interesting. She wouldn't tell the living difference in a paradise laden with life or a barren desert apart. But she was contented with being miserable with almost everything. There was the odd thing she found entertaining, the latest eye candy in whatever herd she found herself in, or even simple things like discovering a new cavern or the first frost of approaching winter. Winter was good. It was dark. It was cold. Sawyer was the opposite of nearly everyone, sometimes this was on purpose.

The grasses caressed her legs as she slid through them, the ends brushing against the tops of her limbs and tickling her belly. Every now and again the ebony mare shook her head in irritation, her long tassles swirling round to hit her quarters before reluctantly drawing away again into her 'little-too-fancy' tail carriage. It was a habit. The Thoroughbred maiden dropped her nose in, large glassy orbs staring about her before pushing into a trot. Really it was dangerous, who knew what sort of footing was underneath. It was not wet ground, it had not rained for a few days and footing felt dry, but what if she fell down a pothole? Broke a leg? As predicted, Sawyer didn't particularly care. Sawyer didn't care really much about anything. After all, what was life not living on the dangerous side?

Ebony tresses fanned off her lean neck as she moved, her nares dilated - it was heavy work; especially for a lighter horse. Something rustled in the undergrowth. A harsh honking snort escaped her and she shot sideways and then forwards into a canter, streaking up the tussocks for a minute before falling back to trot again. Ears laid back into her dark mane for being so stupid Sawyer glared round at the landscape before falling back to a walk. She plodded on in this fashion, the only sound being the silky noises of the long grass and the soft labouring of her lungs.

She paused, bending down to rub her charcoal hued nose on an equally charcoaled leg before stretching upright again. Sawyer was not the tallest of Thoroughbreds at just under sixteen hands, but proportioned magnificently. She snorted again, this time more to clear her airways a little easier before glancing round, her ears experimentally flicking upwards.

s a w y e r.
it just ha p p e n e d
i am your e n e m y now

tag - open
character - Sawyer
words - 518
lyrics - Ya T'voi Vrag [translated because i'm clever]
artist - t.A.T.u