Creative Writing: The Healer

The land was dead, and he was a specter as his bloody white form crept from the border. His solid hooves lightly kissed the ground with each careful step. He was thankful that his colors, obnoxiously flashy as they were, did not absorb much heat as it was a hot summer day and the sun beat down relentlessly from its throne in the sky. Its rays filtered down through the foliage of Deephaven, warming his skin, and he avoided patches where the leaves did not provide sufficient shade. The stallion was in no hurry to speed this affair and expend his energy, as shown by his cautious gait. He was never one to rush head first into things. He'd made sure he'd adequately rested after his journey to this new realm, and he'd scouted out Deephaven as best as he was able before his challenge without alerting its inhabitants, which hadn't been that hard since the occupants were few and far in between. The territory felt barren as he strode deeper and deeper into the woods. The silence was unnatural for a land so rich and fertile. It was the height of summer. The air should be perfumed with the scents of lords and ladies. The sounds of new foals playing the fields should be caught on the warm, gentle breeze. Instead,

It had been smart of her to play to her home advantage, no doubt of that, but her choice of close quarters betrayed her lack of experience. His strength was evident in his well-defined muscles, the slope of his shoulders, the depth of his chest. The russet stallion was sinewy and of no small height. If she thought the trees would stumble him though, she had another thing coming. Not only did his compact muscle render him surprisingly nimble, he wouldn't have to chase her down with the proximity of trees. Her smaller frame would be within his grasp. Despite himself, he fantasized about the sound of a bone snapping beneath his obsidian