Sparrow

Palomino with an appaloosa blanket, she has front socks, and back stockings, the one on her right hind goes all the way up her leg, the left hind only goes up just above her hock. She has a large round star with a thin stripe that only goes a few inches down below it, and a snip on her nose. She has a thick scar running from her left cheek, down the left side of her neck, to her shoulder. A few thinner scars crisscross her chest, front legs, and face. Her conformation is more reminiscent of her Arabian heritage than the Appaloosa side, with a small, dainty build, and only standing at 14.3hh tall. She has an arched neck, thin legs, and high set tail, but her face is not as dished as most Arabs. 

Sparrow lived a very sheltered life for the first four years of her life, she was the daughter of a herd leader, and their lands were temperate with plenty of grass and a broad, clean river winding through it. She rarely went without, and as a result began to grow spoiled. She's very beautiful, and grew up being told so very often. She can be vain, arrogant, and conceited, and overall rather unpleasant. 

Her father was overthrown by a group of young stallions in the herd, and in the process they gave her the scar on her neck before she could escape. She started running, and didn't stop, earning her thin scars across the front part of her body from branches and undergrowth. The scars are her biggest insecurity, though she does her best to keep up her air of superiority. She's a bit thin as well, while on the run she crossed harsher terrain than she was used to, and found herself without adequate food from time to time. 

Sparrow followed behind her father at a slow, and relaxed lope, head and tail held high like his was. He had always told her she looked like her mother, her beautiful and graceful mother, but she got her colors from him. He was tall and thickly built, but he had the same golden spots, but his were spread over his body where hers were confined to her rump. She whinnied as they approached the crest of the hill, it was her favorite spot in all of their lands. From its peak she could see everything, the rippling green grasses, and the silvery ribbon of river snaking its way the beautiful rolling pastures she called home. 


Below them the rest of the heard was spread out: grazing, napping, Old Madge was lazily making her way towards the river for a drink, some of this past spring's foals were playing a game of chase. She could see her mother, resting in the shade of the willow grove by the water's edge, her fiery coat apparent even behind the long, draping branches. If she looked very hard, she might be able to make out the golden tones of her new baby sister. She had not inherited the same spots she and her older brother had, just as her brother had not gotten the golden coat, but her mother's brilliant chestnut. 

"It's a beautiful day out, isn't it Father?" She asked, as she pulled up to a halt at his side. 

"Gorgeous, darling bird," he said gently, touching his muzzle to her neck. 

"I could stay here forever," she said, pale white mane snapping in the wind, "Couldn't you, Father?" 

The stallion let out a long breath, "Yes, yes I could." His tone was kind, and warm. Sparrow's father had a deep and authoritative voice, one she had always believed most suitable for leadership. Her brother had gotten that, that and their father's skills in combat, "Your brother will inherit this land, you know." 

"Yes Father, I know. What of it?" She asked, setting her jaw, and shifting her gaze to focus on the foals. One of the fillies was far out running the others. Her long spindly legs carrying her through the sand at the edge of the river. She was an ugly little thing, too much leg, too little neck, ears like a mule, and the outwardly curving face of some monstrous draft that had sired her. 

"When I'm gone, it will be his." 

"Yes, Father, I know!" She snapped, "Now, what are you getting at?" 

The appaloosa stallion sighed heavily, "The flat lands to our south, their patriarch-" 

"What? You're selling me off to some old nag?" Her voice was laced with bitterness. This wasn't fair, Ronan was older than her and the heir, she knew that, but what did she do to deserve this...this slight? "Is there not anyone here that you would deem suitable? Is there no one better than a savage from that brown and barren waste?" 

"Sparrow...It's-" 

"It's what?" She hissed, absolutely seething. Is this what her fate would be? Churning out foals as ugly as that malformed filly down there. 

"It's more complicated than that - and it wouldn't be to their patriarch - his heir, a stallion named Knox, he's only a couple years older. I've heard he's very-" 

"I don't want to hear anything!" She snapped, and pivoted about, picking up a trot. She would speak to her mother about this, she was reasonable, she'd speak sense into him. She knew she would.