A herd of horses gallops across the prairie, mares and foals up ahead with a dark stallion bringing up the rear. As they slow to a halt, the mares sink their wearied heads to the ground and tear at the lush, late spring grass while the foals play and gallivant around them. The stallion however, trots onto the nearest hill; his gait smooth and rhythmic, hooves barely touching the ground beneath him. As he reaches the top of the hill, the wind begins to play with his mane and forelock. He stands tall, watching over his herd as clouds unveil the sun at its zenith point. Rays of light hit the stallion, revealing his true grace and beauty, light reflecting off his sleek, solid black hide. It seems to be the world’s daily ritual to watch the powerful mustang in his full majesty. Then, the silent majesty is broken and replaced with an eerie silence as something walks towards them in the distance. A palomino mustang ambles steadily towards the little band. The flaxen mane is tousled in the spring breeze as the young mustang points his ears towards the herd, interest peaked. The stallion could sense the young mustang’s lack of wisdom, his manner saying it all. Tail of pure gold cocked slightly upward, the slight prance in his walk, the shining pride in the black pools of the eyes all pointed to young, unchallenged arrogance, fool’s arrogance. Mares were scented and challenge was inevitable. With a sign only the mares understand, the stallion signals his band of the bachelor. Almost instantly, the mares group together; foals rounded up and beside their mothers. Now all that was left was for either stallion to make the first move. With a skyward rear, the palomino blasts out his challenge, stomping and pawing violently as he lands. The black mustang replies with his own challenge, the scream fiercer and more intimidating than his younger opponent. In a moment’s notice, the palomino rushes his elder, ready to fight…and win. Teeth bared and black flames filling the band leader’s eyes, the black stallion rushes in before rearing and striking out at the nearly scarless golden hide of the palomino. Within seconds, blood is spilled, a large gash left where a black hoof landed mere milliseconds ago. The palomino retaliates, biting into the elder mustang’s crest before turning and striking with his hind legs. Screams echo through the prairie as the two stallions attack each other; fighting for pride and the rights of leadership. Deep excitement and emotion flows across the normally tranquil fields, turning all attention to the fighting stallions. Then, with a signal only Nature itself sees, the palomino backs down; submission to his opponent the sign of his first defeat. With a fleeting glance back, the young, defeated stallion retreats from the band. With a final trumpeting blast signaling his victory, the stallion gallops down to his mares and gathers them up before leaving the battlefield. As he tops a knoll, he stands still for just a moment; grace, beauty, and majesty flowing through and from him before turning and leaving the now silent prairie behind.

A short story that's been in the making for two years. I published it on FictionPress.com a while ago. Reviews, questions, and constructive criticism are welcome. If you see something that could be improved, please tell me. I'm always looking for a way to improve my writing style.