Better Things to Do (open!)

[whovian]

Bristile

Not all those who wander are lost.

Bristle had better things to do than be stalked by black bears. Really? That was how his day was going to end? Stalkers? He sighed, inhaling deeply as he smelled the pair of them in the trees. Since when had black bears traveled in pairs? Apparently since a tall chestnut stallion had traveled onto their "turf". Their turf? The chestnut stallion snorted as he made his way towards the open, towards the great marble pillars. He didn't want to be ambushed, he wanted to look these two beasts in the eyes before he ripped them to pieces. He really didn't want too, but since he was being hunted, he really didn't have much choice. Humming to himself unconcerned as he wandered through the bushes, he decided on a tune he'd heard a long time ago. It went something like this:

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

As he finished singing his song, he realized that any horse looking onto the situation would probably think that the chestnut stallion was rather mad. Because as he walked, two fairly large black bears followed him out of the trees, flanking him on either side, about twenty feet away. Though the stallion could probably outrun them, he would never be rid of them until they got the chance to attack, and so he decided that he would deal with them here and now. However, just at the moment, he pretended not to notice them. Finally, when he could practically hear them breathing, he stopped. He did not look up, he stared straight ahead. "I don't want to kill you," he growled in a low voice. The bears took no notice. Bristile spun around to face them, realizing he had to keep his eyes darting back and fourth in order to see them both.

"I'm warning you," he snarled. He reached out his right front hoof, and lashed it through the air angrily at the nearest bear, ears pinned. The bear paused a moment, and blinked. Bristile snorted angrily. The other bear took this momentary distraction to pounce. Yes, Bristile was a fool, and he had been way too sure of himself, and he swore angrily at himself for letting this happen. The bear leaped at him throwing it's full weight into Bristle, and the chestnut stallion staggered sideways towards the other bear. He felt claws dig into his shoulder, and at the last second, he launched himself forward and out of harms way.

"God damn it you old coots! Now look what you've done eh?" he shouted. The bears growled at him. "OI!" he shouted. "I've got better things to do than take out measly blackies today, but I suppose I don' have much of a choice, do I?" he growled. "Goodnight my fine friends." Blood dripping from his shoulder, the stallion took two steps back, ears flattened, teeth bared, and suddenly, he changed. If an onlooker had blinked, he would have missed it, because suddenly, a massive black creature had taken the stallions place. The only thing that lead one to believe it was the same horse was the steady dripping of blood from it's shoulder. A snarling, ground shaking roar emitted from the creatures throat, a low, base sound that rumbled through the earth under his lethal looking talons.

The two bears seemed slightly taken aback, but they weren't for long. A second later, the black creature was on top of them, ripping at their fur talons latched onto their sides, and the first bear went down with a howl. The second retreated, shocked by the sudden demise of his companion as the black horse creature turned on him. his eyes, dark blue, whites showing, teeth bared, lip curled into a snarl as he walked slowly towards the other bear. Another low growl escaped the creatures lips, and the bear turned and ran full tilt towards the safety of the trees. His work done, the stallion once again became a horse, and as he tried to walk, he staggered slightly. Damn shoulder. He pulled a face, and dropped his head to the ground, sniffing at the snow. Without really thinking about it, he dropped and rolled.

Though it stung, and stained the snow, the icy cold soothed his stinging cuts, and as he got up and sniffed the bloody scraps, he knew already that they were beginning to close. Deciding that a good nap would solve his problems, he allowed his left hind leg to rest, his head to droop, and he drifted off, humming the tune of the road.

muse; great
notes; open to any and all :D
Also, The Road Goes On - c) JRR Tolkein, not my poem