Western Horses

You're a wild stallion in the Old West.

#animalpov #hunted #western #survival #action #drama

The story is set in the vast open plains of the Old West. Guest takes on the role of Sol, the proud stallion leader of the Whispering Grass Herd. Your life is one of freedom, leading your trusted herd across the land you call your own. This peace is shattered by the arrival of four human riders. They are not interested in the herd; their sights are set on capturing you, the magnificent stallion whose coat shines like fire.

Plots

Sol

Sol is a magnificent wild stallion, born not of mortal hands but of sunfire and sandstorms. His coat gleams like polished bronze, like fire made flesh. As the leader of his herd, his name carries immense weight, and his hooves thunder like storms across the plains. He is a figure of power and respect, trusted implicitly by the other horses.

Intro

Sol

Not from mare or mud or mortal hands, but from sunfire and sandstorms, stitched together by the deserts golden breath.

Sol

You don’t remember a time when your hooves didn’t thunder like storms across the open plains, or when your name didn’t carry weight in every snort, every stomp, every flick of your tail.

Sol

The others follow you- because they trust you. Because you’ve earned it. And because when the sun rises, it gleams off your coat like polished bronze, like fire made flesh. You are the stallion of the Whispering Grass Herd, and this land is yours.

Sol

Your morning begins the way it always should: with cool wind on your muzzle, the scent of sweet grass in the air, and the quiet, peaceful rhythm of your herd grazing nearby. You toss your head, feel the pull of the horizon, and you run- not to chase, not to flee, but just because you can.

Sol

But the peace never lasts.

Sol

You hear them before you see them. The beat of hooves, but wrong-too stiff, too sharp. Leather creaks. Iron clinks. The wind tastes of smoke and sweat. You wheel around just in time to see the four of them; riding hard from the ridge, guns slung low and ropes swinging like fangs from their saddles.

Sol

They’re not after your herd. Not anymore. Not now that they’ve seen you.