force feeding you lines.

[scrappy]

Loping at an easy pace, the greyed dove and her overo daughter found themselves on the edge of great plains. The land opened up for miles around them like an emerald sea. Rolling hills hid the snakelike river that wound through the terra, but Glor could smell the water. It was early afternoon and the heat of summer's sun was already weighing heavily on the aging mare. Her constantly hyped offspring unsurprisingly, seemed unaffected by the temperature. Glor studied Juturna, her dark eyes soaking in every inch of her daughter that was Sem. The patchwork filly cantered just ahead of her mother, her skull held to the sky as if she expected something to fall on her. Glor chuckled at herself. Juturna was probably brooding, not worrying. Despite resembling her father, Glor's daughter was a spitting image of her in personality. At least what the powdered fatale was like when she was young. This worried my lady in grey; had it not been for Glor meeting Sem, she surely would have wound up in some dark labrynth. Sem wasn't here to save his daughter, through no fault of his own. Glor wondered if her mother's love would be enough to show Juturna the way.

Youth and vigor propelled the two toned flicka over the hilltops with grace. Juturna loved days like this, when they found themselves running beneath an endless sky. She didn't much favor the darkness and tight situations of a forest, nor the trechory of a mountain. Give her the vastness of a desert or a gently rolling plains any day. An onyx lobe was flicked backward as her mother's gentle laugh reached her. Slowing her pace to match Glor's, Juturna's lips curved in a devious grin,

"Bet ya can't beat me to the water, Ma!"

Her shrill voice caught the wind as Juturna launched herself forward. Ebony banner streaked out behind her flanks as the femme's pistons began to weave her between the hills that littered the field. Glor had been taken offguard and was also way outmatched when it came to her spawn. The fifteen year old vixen was quickly not visible behind Juturna. This was her plan. The young painted dove wanted to be alone for a bit, perhaps see what mischief she could stir.

After registering what Juturna said, Glor kicked herself into gear realizing it was a challenge. Even with light arthritis setting in within her joints, the harpie could never back down from a challenge. Years of this mentality caused her body to feel even older than she actually was. A low grunt escaped Glor's sooty lips as her muscles creaked against her full sprint. Soon Juturna was out of sight, though the grey doll could see the wide river eighty yards in front of her. Glor felt a new life enter her veins as she thought of water. Ashy limbs covered ground with great speed until the riverbed moistened the dove's feet. Glor slid to a stop, snorting loudly and repetitvely. Once she caught her breath, she began to drink happily. The fast moving river was cool and refreshing, calming my vixen into forgetting that her child was missing.

Juturna had indeed found trouble to get into. Not far up the river from where her mother sipped, a young pair of bucks also enjoyed the waters. They were brothers who had been sparring with each other and had only paused to rehydrate. Juturna had spent some time observing and messing with deer. When she approached this duo, her cranium was carried low with an arched nape. Nearly prancing, Juturna got within feet of the pair as they watched wide eyed. Pausing for several moments, the flicka finally half reared, throwing herself head first at them. The bucks reacted like bucks know how and in similiar fashion. Both reared on their hind limbs only to launch themselves horns first at Juturna. She read them like a book, dodging immediately to the left, avoiding their spiked crowns. Her own skull colliding with the smallest of the deer's neck, knocking him into his brethren. Juturna seized the opportunity, raising her fore limbs above them the young dame slammed her irons into the soft tan side of the creature. His exasperated cry satisfied the patchwork dove and she backed off, daring them to resume attack with a sneer.

Glor, now satiated, became overwhelmed with panic. Her daughter had now been missing for quite some time and they were in unknown lands. Lobes pricked and scythes creating little sound atop the terra, Glor began a search of the surrounding area. She dared not call out her child's name, in fear of alerting a would be predator of their presence. Instead the ashy harpie sucked in the air frantically, following the faint traces of Juturna's scent. Soon she found the trail guiding her north up the river and Glor even noticed hoofprints within the sands. Juturna was close, but where.

THE GLORIOUS NOSEBLEED 

and

JUTURNA

[Johnny]

..................Semi Constructive Criticism
Heat like this brought Sem back to what he thought of as his glory days. Summer was in full swing, and 

on the vast expanse of prairie, there was little shade. Fortunately, the tovero was thin-coated and lighter

boned, and the high temperatures were not taking as much a toll on him had he been dressed a bit more 

thickly. He was waist-deep in Takamine memories as his feet covered ground with a relatively graceful 

gait. Dark eyes glazed with thought, Sem hardly noticed that the damp scent of water now lined his nostrils, 

and when he did come to, he was happily surprised to find that he was indeed thirsty. A damp stain across 

his neck was proof that he'd been sweating out his body's liquid reserves. Still trapped within a rather small 

bubble of awareness, he waded into the cool water and thrust his mug below the surface. Sucking down 

mouthfuls of water, he allowed himself to shut his eyes and savor the moment. However, he'd not taken two

full swallows before a harsh bellow rocked the relative quiet. It wasn't a product of fear when Sem lifted his 

handsome two-toned head. The look on his face was attentive and yet maintained an air of been-there placid.

Where fear may have laced the veins of another, Sem only felt intrigued. He recognized the cry as cervine, 

but couldn't help wanting to indulge his curiosity. Patiently, he walked from the deeper water, his movements 

stifled by the depth less and less until he was on the shore opposite from where he'd come. He shook lightly 

and, still dripping, picked up a comfortable trot up the river. When he was close enough to hear the commotion, 

he slowed down. Amber eyes pried at his surroundings until locking on a most peculiar sight. A young mare, 

clearly delighted, was in the process of scrapping with two bucks, on their terms. Her moves were decidedly 

deerlike, the paint noted, and he could not help feeling amusement as she faced the two, daring them to make 

the next move. Fully enthralled, Sem kept his eyes trained on the girl, vastly curious as to what her next move

might be. That is, until he was sucked involuntarily into what may as well have been a black hole of nostalgia. 

It crept into his brain on the wind, climbing his nostrils high, setting off mental sparks. It was a scent that the 

stallion had longed for. One he thought might have faded from his memory. And yet, as it flooded his senses, 

he realized it was one he'd never be able to forget. He completely forgot about the filly and turned around, now

moving back toward the river's edge. The dampness served to amplify the intensity of this scent; he was dead

sure he moved in the right direction. And then... It was with a numb body and disbelieving eyes that he saw her.

Frayed, slightly more than before, and clearly whipped up into a panicked frenzy, was the love of his life. The 

breath left him, his lungs suddenly pausing their in-out cycle. His heart pounded hard, and yet slowly. Each throb

was thunder in his ears and he might later say that time had seemed to check out. Water clung to her coat, like

him, and for a long moment it seemed Sem would never move again. But then, a fraction of the shock slipped 

through him, and he mobilized. Deliberate, meaningful steps brought him into view, and these same steady footfalls 

carried his still-numb frame to the waters edge. His left forehoof made a plunking sound as it re-entered the river.

Glor?

Her name escaped Sem's lips breathily, more hushed than he intended, but she couldn't have been more than thirty 

feet away from him, and would almost certainly be alerted to his presense at this point. A brief flicker of suspicion

crossed his mind; was it a dream? Subtly he pressed his right forehoof to the sensitive skin of his left coronet, just

above the hoof. His nerves threatened to send pain up the two-toned spine, the clear message that this somehow 

was reality. Thoughts of the black overo filly evaporated, along with everything but Glor and the water they stood in. 

Suddenly remembering to breathe, he drew a deep breath and found his bottom lipped trapped between teeth tensed 

with suspense. Perhaps his entire life had built up to this moment, and he hoped that there was no cruel coincidence 

providing him with a look-alike mare who happened to smell exactly like the one and only girl he'd ever wanted, the 

one and only mare he ever could want. The Glorious Nosebleed, odd, captivating, strange and beautiful. His love...

[scrappy]

    So immersed in the heated moment, Juturna took no notice of another presence upon them. Her tunnel vision could have proven
dangerous had the approached being been any other. The cloven of hoof, however, were very aware of the painted equine just out of
sight. Frozen in place, they shifted their fears between the flicka at hand and whatever was in the shrubbery. Juturna took advantage
of their indecision, slamming her flat cranium just behind the closest of the deer's horn. The stunned beast fell limp onto the shore knocked
out, his brother fleeing as fast as he could manage. Juturna, thoroughly pleased with herself, held her countenance to the sky and trotted
away. The thought of her waiting mother polluted her celebration and motivated the black and white shrew to find her dam.


Frightened and shrouded in worry, Glor was just about to leave the river's edge. Stout shanks slowly became active but were immediately
halted. A familiar smell had caused the graying vixen to involuntarily and suddenly stop. Disbelief nearly pressed Glor onward, to find her
missing daughter and forget the nonsense her nose was telling her. But then her name, her name in a tone so real, so undeniably his that
the harpie was forced to turn her head, beseeched her petite lobes. Time took a break from it's job, even the bustling river seemed to slow
for the scene playing out. Dark orbs that had slightly begun to cloud beheld her own soul materialized before her, like some god or dream. A
surprisingly large part of Glor had believed her patchwork lover to be dead. It had been so, so long since she'd last seen his burnt orange and
cream face. As much as she wanted this to be real, uncertainty gripped her chest tightly. Glor even wondered if dementia was starting to take
hold of her mine, creating this delusion that Sem had found her.


It's not true, it can't be true.


Her words, though low in volume, were loud in emotion. The ashen dame then made for the waters, needing some sort of stimuli to wake her
from her day dream. The cool river met her near white skin with a sharp coldness. Letting out a short squeal my femme sunk her visage beneath
the water. Returning to oxygen, Glor snorted harshly, her thinned coat dripping and her eyes frantically seeking the place where she had first
seen the mirage of her assumed to be passed husband. And yet, he still stood there, gallant and beautiful beneath the sun's hot weight. Glor
was dumbfounded, standing and staring like some fangirl seeing her idol for the first time in person. But one word was utter from her darkly hued
lips,


Sem?



Juturna was an excellent tracker, and was soon upon the spot where her mother had replenished herself; except now, another, much bulkier,
equid accompanied her. Without a moment of hesitation, the overo shrew launched herself between the pair, towers slain. Her mismatched eyes
soaked in the details of the situation, noting her mother's confused expression and this painted brute's orbs reflecting soft affection. Giving her
own lucid dreads a shake, Juturna expelled the air from her nostrils roughly and directed her attention at the male.


Who are you?


Fear was something Juturna had yet to grasp. She was bold, confident, and often foolish. Regardless, she'd always defend her mother.