Alkali

Alkali is tall, about 16.3hh, with a medium build somewhere in between his stockier QH side and the leaner TB. He's a silver grulla with a thick blaze, leg bars, dorsal stripe, and one white stocking on his back left leg that goes up to his hock. He has one blue eye, and one brown.

Alkali is a bit of a sullen horse, he's not a huge talker, and when he does he can end up revealing a bit of a temper, and a sharp tongue. He can be very aloof and cold, often feeling removed from other horses and their problems. Despite anti-social and or aggressive tendencies, he does have a good heart down there somewhere, and while he has few qualms with violence, he has trouble stomaching excessive cruelty. On rare occasions he can even show kindness.

As a foal attempting to cross a river with his mother one night after a storm he nearly drowned, his mother, however, did not make it. This has left him with a near paralyzing fear of large and moving, and or deep bodies of water; oceans and rivers are out of the question. He can deal with streams, and can be around lakes and ponds though he won't swim in them.

The morning was clear and cold, the bright sunshine had cleared the early dawn haze, but had failed to bring much in the way of warmth. A fresh, thin sheet of early spring snow covered the ground in irregular patches, that gave a clean crunch with each step. Alkali snorted, trying to expel the icy air from his lungs, and watched as the breath turned to mist in front of him. It was quiet, most other animals were smart enough to hole up in their homes; cozy, grass lined burrows, and nests. It would have been nicer if he would just leave the tree line, and let what little heat the sun could provide rid him of the chill that had settled in his bones over night. 

         He had not been expecting the snow last night, lulled into a false sense of security by the past few days that had been warm with hints of the spring to come. Now he heavily regretted not finding a tree to sleep under, the snow had frosted his silvery coat, and soaked through to the skin. He did not mind the cold as much, he enjoyed the crisp, clean, feel of the air as it passed through his nose and into his throat. It was being wet he hated, which by itself was not pleasant, but mixed with brisk temperature it was torturous. His stomach rumbled, the hollow feeling rising from his gut, he hadn't had anything to eat since last night, and the frost coated pine needles didn't look appetizing.

          The stallion gazed longingly at the field to his left where patches of green and brown grass peeked from bright snow that seemed to glow in the golden morning light. He pawed at the ground heavily, streaking the clean white snow with black earth from underneath, and snorted again. He had been walking since nearly dawn trying to find a place to cross the stream that had become swollen with snow melts from the warmer weather the past few days. It rushed brown and thick, sucking at the thin ice that still clung to the cold-hardened banks, and engulfed any grasses that had begun to sprout. He eyed the roiling water carefully, the roar had been a constant since he woke, drowning any other sounds that might have escaped the already muffling effects of the snow. His ears flicked back, and a wrinkle appeared above his left nostril as he glared at flooded creek with distaste. 

           If he could just find a spot that was narrow enough to jump, he'd passed a few, but he hadn't been sure. The bank on the other side had looked too high, or too soft, or been coated in slick layers of ice. He knew he could make the leap, but the toss up between sticking the landing and crashing into the freezing stream was one he wasn't particularly willing to take. At this point, however, he was hungry, and tired, and more than anything wanted to be home. The sunlight always reached the high fields his herd called home, and the hills were easily navigated with out the troubling barrier of rivers. He was already several days behind when he had planned to return home, late and failed in his duties. 

           The herd's leader, a stallion by the name of Herros, had a foal who had run off a week ago now. A pretty bay filly who had had a squabble with her dam. Alkali had been sent after her, but after several days trekking through the forested hills below their fields, he'd lost the scent. Several more days of wandering the sparse and cold evergreen wood, and he had given up hope. She was the first foal of the year, barely two months old. Between a lack of milk to be found in pine needles and bark, and the biting cold that had blown in off the mountains that night, the likelihood of her surviving was far less than optimistic. 

            Alkali new the mother, a soft young mare a few years younger than himself, this had been her first foal. She would be devastated, he was sure. It was a bad piece of luck, but such things happened. There would be other foals this season, when the grass was more plentiful, and the nights weren't so cold. The mare would have a chance to try again for next year, she'd be a fool to attempt any sooner, though she was an impulsive young thing, and grief dulled the senses. Herros wouldn't be much help in stopping her if she did try. He was charismatic, and strong, but Alkali would be damned if he had met a dumber beast. 

             Alkali's ears swung forward, flashing silver in the sunlight, finally, it looked like he would be able to cross. He sprung into a trot, his hoof beats cracking the hardening snow with each stride. The water still flowed higher and stronger than he would like, but the bank was lower on the other side. He pulled up near the bank, eyeing the stream, it looked safe enough. Shoving down the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach, he trotted back far enough that he would have a decent start. He pricked his ears forward trying to get a pin point on the sound of the water, it was best to know where it was even though it had disappeared under the lip of the bank. Alkali shuffled this way and that, trying to get the best spot to start from. 

             He couldn't just sit on this side of the stream forever, he was going to have to jump eventually. The stallion pinned his ears flat, snorted defiantly at the roaring stream, and bounded forward. The sound of water melted with the drum of his hooves on frosty ground, one stride, two, no. He skidded to a stop, letting out a grunt as he looked down at the muddy creek. He breathed in and spun back around, cantering back farther than before, he prepared himself for the leap again. Don't be a coward, Alkali, he growled to himself, and rushed forward in a gallop. He took off more than stride before he needed to, not risking a trip next to the stream's edge, and made sure to look anywhere but the water beneath him as he soared towards the opposite bank. His hooves sunk into the mud on the other side, and it took more effort than normal to stride forward into the grassy field. At least he was on solid ground.

             Slowing to a jog he trotted up into the snow covered grass, and then abruptly came to a halt, and dropped his head to graze. He could smell the herd from here, faintly, maybe an hour or so away if he kept a decent pace. He had all day to return to the herd, but for now he was starving, and the grasses were just starting to become sweet again.