TF: 'Wild Horses'

Er, a little back history on this one...

First off, it's a very long-overdue gift for ~retrolex . Deuce, of course, belongs to her; so, honestly, I once more owe her a good stout cup of Vanilla Chai for letting me borrow him once again for nefarious purposes...

*groans* Okay, it's actually so long overdue that if it was a library book... well, let's just say it would probably be one of those primer readers that's buried under your bed and you pull out and realize it's twenty ears old. Yipes! "See Spot runnnnnnn." *grin*

This one took me a while to finish, that's for sure. Darn life, always getting in the way of things like art and writing and riding horses and working dogs. However, I kept coming back to it, and I always wanted to draw this scene; it's one of those moments that I've always adored, because the writing was just flat out fun.

So... here's the couple of paragraphs that really inspired this sketch... Man, rereading this... I still don't think I did it justice. *chuckle*


As the herd thunders down the rise towards him, moving together as a single fluid mass of hard, jostling bodies, thrashing, pounding legs, and tossed heads, Deuce backs up a step, his jaw dropping. He knows the animals aren't large enough to hurt him, but still the sight of the racing horses and the massive cloud of floating dust that surrounds them is enough to fill him with a sense of wonder and amazement. He can feel the reverb of their approach running ahead along the ground and up through his legs, the sound ringing in his audio sensors, and the journalist hold as still as he can as the animals wheel directly towards him. The sun beats down on the shaggy backs, the glossy savannah colours, the rippling manes and tails and flashing eyes ringed with white and suddenly Deuce finds himself wishing that he had his camera in his hands. He hasn't the time to sub it in and he knows it, so he simply braces himself and enjoys the rare spectacle, his grin wild and open as the herd bears down upon him.

The horses gallop past the reporter in a multi-hued rush, tones of the earth and the gold of the sun; anarchic in a way, like a living impressionistic painting. Some of the animals come so close to Deuce that tangled, burr laden tails whip across his plating and wing edges, leaving dusty streaks against his grey metal, but they avoid him easily, skirting and dancing around his lean form like leaves caught in a strong wind. Flaring nostrils pull in air, and it’s snorted out with each stride; wheeling like a flock of birds, they split gracefully on either side of him and pound past. Hooves strike the earth, tearing up gouts of red sand and dirt, the dust haze whipped up behind the herd as they gallop into the distance; the stallion’s throaty squeal ringing back over the plain as he’s the last one to pass, covering his mares from any impending attack from behind them. They leave Deuce behind in a matter of moments - and the roos snort softly, then go back to grazing as calmly as nothing ever happened. It’s only then it’s obvious that Dart’s sliding to her own stop a few meters away from him with an expectant expression of sheer delight and enjoyment, the settling dust coming to drift onto her already hazy plating.


Well, not much more to say, except that apparently, I'm also just a horse-lovin' fool. *wink*