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The horse of metal had only begun to settle within the parameters of the pasture, when he glistened in reflection upon the chapter of his life spent at the palace gate. He did not hesitate to rattle in wit and vanity about his experience guarding the entrance to the royal family home, protecting the king’s body and the queen’s bone. He had known perseverance; he had acquired a metallic temperance to deal with the idle situation, and although restless at times, the nature of retirement was he hardly more inclined.

The horse of water chatted fluidly while moving lusciously about the prairie knoll. As she strolled flowingly about, spilling tales of her days in the cavalry, trotting along carrying an army scout. She told of the adventures in spontaneity. She mentioned the homecoming parades of gaiety. She shed a tear for the changeability of her riders, she often a survivor of what they could not overcome.

The horse of fire, extremely volatile, engulfed the pasture; she burst back, forth, and all about the fenced-in land while exhibiting her fiery need for freedom. Exuding hyperactivity, hating everything about captivity, she desired the dangerous sort of occupation. She had been a traveling horse, one burning hot in speed, one brazenly equipped with the stamina required for exploration. Her vigor carried her riders abroad and about the nation, to vast lands and far off destinations; and now she felt barely as gray embers within these sequestered and sheltered spaces.

The horse of earth was practical, had been a horse of the stable, and spent his dusty days perfectly able to work hard, fully capable of exhausting sensible limits. Grounded in dependable efforts, he was shrewd and prudent, and did not boast in himself like the others. He smothered his pride in the compost of experience; the gravel of laborious hours, the muck of toiling in sun and showers, the red clay of his blood spilled without powers to control his own desires. Here in the pasture, he sensed rapture at his hooves and chuckled in the sweet serenity that was, at last, part of his elderly identity.

The horse of wood could not contain her gentle glee, as a horse of the clouds she considered herself to be. Meandering outside the pasture parameters- not enclosed, not contained- her mane was stiff from a life spent drifting about without either regard or fame. Her mood was elevated and whimsical; her mind was acute to all things imaginable. She was sociable in tendency, and very much influential in propensity. She was committed to a life of innovative promiscuity; she flaunted her coarse coat and sauntered on sturdy limbs, consistently creative towards her own independency.

The horse of metal- having embraced the rusting caused by winds of change and waters of time- grinded the mechanics inside of his mind. Although he had longed for the shining brilliance of youthful regard for duty, he found himself annealing, softening in age, melting for idealistic beauty. Where once he had been impetuously hard about opportunity, he morphed slowly; yet recently became golden through the process of alchemy; he now took pleasure in the aesthetics of personal unity, composed no more by a variety of ore; he swore himself solid: venerably enthusiastic about the future, he felt reassuringly, his past had been fantastic enough for him to clink about the community in total confidence of personal history.

The horse of water gallivanted spiritedly, splashing in the sea of her recallable memory. She felt a sudden ease wash over her, pleased as she was regarding all that had been accomplished. Astonished at her own fluidity during time spent working for the military, she bathed in appreciation for her own life: having been keen to perceive peril and strife, she stayed afloat, head above the tide, because she was as changeable as the currents that ride along the shore. She did explore as much as she could, and yet to go back, she never would; a subtle assertion revealed: she found her situation of shallow exertion to be a pool of perfect splendor and exactly right for her older inclination.

The horse of fire, confined as a flame burning upon a wick, was not quick to acclimate to the boundaries of the pasture. It took much persuasion of self to look inside and find dignity within what had been her responsibility; she approved her retired role only as a soul fulfilled through much travel. She had seen every place her hooves could race towards; she had moved through time and space at such an accelerated rate, there was nothing left out to search. She, who was esteemed as genius, had never dropped a rider through convenience. She was all business, and although tempestuous at times, she had sense enough to enjoy her line of work. Now, fully aged, she had reverence towards her experience, and comfortably accepted that fact that her blaze would soon extinguish.

The horse of earth, for what it was worth, felt no discomfort towards his new situation. It was gratification to roam at his leisure, pounding the ground at his pleasure. His rocky frame had eroded over time, yet in his mind, shrewdness still resided. Patience and innovation were the soil of his person, and from it bloomed the blossoms of elation: nutrients that were his past brought forth the fragrance of a pleasant odor, one that made the older workhorse inhale his aroma of continual dedication. A life in servitude had been perpetually grueling, but at last, at rest, he was placatory, perfectly at ease in his life’s story. There was nothing left but to enjoy his disintegration.

The horse of wood saw to the ease of the other four, those within the borders of the royal prairie. She too reflected on her life, time spent in solidary merriment, and suddenly found her lack of accomplishment as a source of anxiety. What did she have to show for never working a day? What pride could she take in living astray? Head in the clouds, she gave her life away. And now, in age, who would protect her frame? Her timbers were routed, her limbs were shrouded in gloom. Soon she would fall, crash, and become a tree without roots. She was withered and she shivered as the sun set afar, and left sight of the great pasture for evermore.

miranda hourse

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