Pippen
3 Years Old
Stallion
Stallion
Personality:
Pippen is always laughing, smiling, joking, and sometimes pranking. He is brave, willing to throw himself into the face of danger if only to save those he loves. His happy exterior, however, hides an extremely broken interior. |
Family:
N/A |
Backstory:
Pippen was a wild pony. He wasn’t scared of humans, no way. While the two-legged creatures fascinated him, he preferred to watch on the right side of the fence. The free side. He was observing a young human filly one day from the shadows of the trees when she glanced up and saw him. Pippen turned to run away like he always did, but his foot got snagged and he fell hard. He stood, but his foot was stuck. The girl raced over, and Pippen struggled ever harder. “Sh, sh,” the girl soothed. For some reason, Pippen calmed down. “Your foot got stuck in a trap for little animals. My father sells the pelts. Here, let me help.” She bent and released his hoof. For a moment, they stood there. Girl and one year old pony. Slowly, she raised and stretched out her hand. Pippen watched, mesmerized. He had seen humans do it before, but never longed to know how it felt before now. He blinked when her hand gently rested on his nose. He breathed in her scent. It was pleasant, and so was her touch. “Hi, boy,” she said softly. “Good boy.” She lowered her hand and smiled at him before going back to her house. Pippen met with the girl under the shadows of the trees often after that. His love for her grew in his heart, and hers for him likewise. She never once tried to bring him into their barn or paddock, where two other horses grazed. She respected his freeness, and he loved her for it. One day, the girl’s father came outside and slowly approached the tree where Pippen lay, waiting for her. He stood hastily, untrusting of the man. “Hi, boy. Nice pony.” The man advanced. In his hands was a halter, and Pippen knew this was bad luck. “My daughter is ill. I thought I’d tell you. She’s inside, can’t come.” The man stepped closer. Pippen tilted his head. The girl? Where was she? Suddenly the man’s hands loomed in front of him, and Pippen lowered his head and butted the man’s stomach. The man bent in half, air whooshing from his lungs, surprised. Pippen didn’t stick around. He turned and galloped away. He watched the girl from a distance from then on. He knew her father would try to capture him, and he was sad that he could no longer visit him. After a while she stopped looking under the tree for him, and he could sense her sadness from where he stood watching. Pippen was lying near the house one night when he was wakened by a crackling noise. He blinked and looked toward the dwelling. Light blinded him, and smoke filled his nostrils. Fire! He scrambled to his feet and peered into the window closest - the girl’s window. She was still inside, trapped. Fire blazed behind her door, and she couldn’t open the window. Pippin raced toward the house and reared, planning on kicking the window open so the girl could escape. A deafening blow rang in his ears and he was thrown backward. Dazed, he looked up again. Fire poured from the window, licking at the sky. An explosion had ripped through the room. Pippin raced back over, getting as close as he could, prancing nervously. He stood there pacing until the fire died down. The father had escaped, Pippen had vaguely noted. He looked through the soot-covered window frame. Blackened bones sat in a pile just inside. Pippen was blinded by pain, and stumbled into the woods. He walked for who knows how long. Days, weeks. He didn’t know. He arrived in a valley, and a horse his age, a year old, trotted over to greet him. The yearling’s name was Charlie. He smiled and told Pippin that all were welcome in their little herd, and a mare had just joined a few weeks ago. Pippin became a part of the herd, and his pain faded enough for him to return back to his laughing, joking self. But below all that still churned the pain of the girl’s death and his inability to save her.
Pippen was a wild pony. He wasn’t scared of humans, no way. While the two-legged creatures fascinated him, he preferred to watch on the right side of the fence. The free side. He was observing a young human filly one day from the shadows of the trees when she glanced up and saw him. Pippen turned to run away like he always did, but his foot got snagged and he fell hard. He stood, but his foot was stuck. The girl raced over, and Pippen struggled ever harder. “Sh, sh,” the girl soothed. For some reason, Pippen calmed down. “Your foot got stuck in a trap for little animals. My father sells the pelts. Here, let me help.” She bent and released his hoof. For a moment, they stood there. Girl and one year old pony. Slowly, she raised and stretched out her hand. Pippen watched, mesmerized. He had seen humans do it before, but never longed to know how it felt before now. He blinked when her hand gently rested on his nose. He breathed in her scent. It was pleasant, and so was her touch. “Hi, boy,” she said softly. “Good boy.” She lowered her hand and smiled at him before going back to her house. Pippen met with the girl under the shadows of the trees often after that. His love for her grew in his heart, and hers for him likewise. She never once tried to bring him into their barn or paddock, where two other horses grazed. She respected his freeness, and he loved her for it. One day, the girl’s father came outside and slowly approached the tree where Pippen lay, waiting for her. He stood hastily, untrusting of the man. “Hi, boy. Nice pony.” The man advanced. In his hands was a halter, and Pippen knew this was bad luck. “My daughter is ill. I thought I’d tell you. She’s inside, can’t come.” The man stepped closer. Pippen tilted his head. The girl? Where was she? Suddenly the man’s hands loomed in front of him, and Pippen lowered his head and butted the man’s stomach. The man bent in half, air whooshing from his lungs, surprised. Pippen didn’t stick around. He turned and galloped away. He watched the girl from a distance from then on. He knew her father would try to capture him, and he was sad that he could no longer visit him. After a while she stopped looking under the tree for him, and he could sense her sadness from where he stood watching. Pippen was lying near the house one night when he was wakened by a crackling noise. He blinked and looked toward the dwelling. Light blinded him, and smoke filled his nostrils. Fire! He scrambled to his feet and peered into the window closest - the girl’s window. She was still inside, trapped. Fire blazed behind her door, and she couldn’t open the window. Pippin raced toward the house and reared, planning on kicking the window open so the girl could escape. A deafening blow rang in his ears and he was thrown backward. Dazed, he looked up again. Fire poured from the window, licking at the sky. An explosion had ripped through the room. Pippin raced back over, getting as close as he could, prancing nervously. He stood there pacing until the fire died down. The father had escaped, Pippen had vaguely noted. He looked through the soot-covered window frame. Blackened bones sat in a pile just inside. Pippen was blinded by pain, and stumbled into the woods. He walked for who knows how long. Days, weeks. He didn’t know. He arrived in a valley, and a horse his age, a year old, trotted over to greet him. The yearling’s name was Charlie. He smiled and told Pippin that all were welcome in their little herd, and a mare had just joined a few weeks ago. Pippin became a part of the herd, and his pain faded enough for him to return back to his laughing, joking self. But below all that still churned the pain of the girl’s death and his inability to save her.