Spirit Stallion Rain Novels & Stories

The vistas gorgeous. Dillon and Chase were also interested in the horses. "You see that pretty little chestnut mare in the corner?" Chase asked. Mitch and Dillon said yes. "She's Pretty Girl, Lauren's horse. Now, look at my horse, the stallion in the corner beside her. If Midnight could, he'd jump that fence, sniff around enough until he had her for himself. He doesn't want any other mare but her. He's our best stud, so we use him with other mares but not her. She doesn't have the bloodline requirements we need. Every day they are at that corner, talking back and forth, smelling each other's scent, rubbing their faces together."

“Well, I changed my mind now. I don’t like it and it is not a nice car, baby,” As we get to the stables, we find a man, handling two horses: a brown stallion and a brown mare. We greet him as we enter; he introduces himself to us and he welcomes us in. “This is Martinis,” He refers to the stallion. “And this is Spirit, and I believe they are rented by you for a night walk? Sergio, and Paula?” “Yes, thank you. I will take it from here, Señor,” Sergio says before the man leaves. I am quite surprised that he planned this for us.

I look around and find that I am in the stall with the Arabian Stallion, I recognize him by the white blaze on his muzzle, and the long member hanging from his belly is a good indication too. Though I feel that every creature on this planet deserves a little satisfaction and gratification, this stallion would have to wait for another night, because the only thing I am interested in this evening would be the cycling mare a few stalls over. Though I cannot smell it, the pheromones that she is releasing in her display of heat certainly appear to have an effect on this well-endowed stud, hence his apparent need to just let everything hang out.

Commotion suddenly erupted near the racetrack. A dark horse blurred past at a gallop, its rider clad in professional equestrian gear moving with feral, razor-sharp precision. He hauled the stallion to an abrupt halt less than three meters from us; the black horse reared with a shrill whinny, splattering mud into Miller’s champagne flute. It was Caspian. He swung off the horse in a fluid flash of motion, ignoring Miller entirely to stride straight toward me. Sweat beaded his forehead, his eyes swirling with an unreadable emotion.

Ashton quickly collected the cards and reshuffled them before dealing them out. The five men played three hands. Cedric played carelessly at first, losing two hands early on. As the game progressed, port was consumed liberally by all except Al Zahrani, who did not wish to indulge. "I say, Al Zahrani, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a horse called Firestorm? I believe that's his English name," Cedric asked, his voice smooth and relaxed thanks to the port. Firestorm was a purebred Arabian stallion who was worth a fortune and rumored never to have left Arabia. Nor was the horse permitted to be bred with any foreign breed. No Englishman had been able to get his hands on any of his offspring

“He is a Destrier. The finest I’ve ever seen aside from temperament. Horseflesh of that quality is meant to be ridden by a noble or even the king, but unfortunately, this one can not be trained.” “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be ridden by a noble. They’re far too taken with themselves and think of nobody else. Isn’t that right Storm?” Eleanor turned back to the animal with another morsel in her hands, turning all her attention back to the horse and trying to pretend her husband didn’t exist. Storm's eyes danced between her and Fann a few times before he inched over and took the offering gently with his lips. After taking the food he bent his head so that his ear was by her hand, as though aski

My wolf perked his ears forward, his golden eyes scanning each horse with mild approval. They’re calm tonight, he noted, his voice low and content. Good. At the far end stood Storm, a sleek black stallion with a thick mane and a white blaze running down his long nose. He lifted his head when he saw us, ears flicking forward, and stamped his hooves softly on the straw-covered ground. Henry let go of my hand and ran forward, his little feet thudding against the wooden floor. He stopped just short of the stall door, gripping the wood with his tiny fingers. “Hi, Storm,” he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement.

I got this hunch that he'd become aware of my gaze and was about to return it, so I looked away immediately. "Are you aware that the rainbow is just an illusion?" He asked turning to me, with that cute smile still playing on his lips. "Huh?" "The rainbow," he repeated, pointing towards it "it's an illusion cast on the sky due to the reflection of light" "Really" I said. He scoffed and silence reigned once again. I figured it was now time to part ways before he begins to grow on me. "I'm about to go in now," I said reluctantly "Which hospital building do you stay?" I grabbed the arms of his wheelchair.

The night of the storm came back to him like a dream soaked in rain. He had been crossing the waterfront, heading toward the palace. The rain had slowed, and no one was around—except his faithful horse, Treasure, tied near the shore. As he stepped off the canoe, he had whispered, “Calm down, Treasure. Missed me?” But the horse was uneasy, its ears twitching, its legs shifting. “What’s wrong?” he had asked, instinctively reaching to untie the reins. The grass ahead rustled. His eyes narrowed. “Show yourself,” he had commanded, his tone sharp.

(EL POV) When suddenly, I heard a horse neighing. My mind showed me a picture of myself riding a white horse, it was running freely across the vast grassland. The white satallion… This memory in my head... I had a horse. It flowed back to me, it was Uncle Rankin who gave it to me. What's its name? Phantom, yes. I remembered the day when we catch this elusive wild horse. I was the one who got rid of the ropes around him. He deserves to run freely without the threat of being captured. Yes! I have my own favorite stallion.