Inka flinched as her father’s hard words echoed against the walls of the cavern. She had never been as fluent in their tongue as he, but she knew a curse when she heard one, and – just as she’d predicted – it only served to loosen Sterre’s sharp tongue in turn. She could feel the electricity of a storm brewing in the air between them, and she had no intention of being around when it broke. Now was ample time to make her escape.
For a heartbeat, she remained frozen in place as the smaller, older mare drew close and postured, her eyes promising trouble if Inka intervened. She had no intention of that, of course. “I was just leaving,” she muttered, ears twisting back against her crest with discomfort. Then she fled, fueled by nerves as her hindquarters bunched beneath her, propelling her further away from the mouth of the cave. She gave one last cursory glance over her shoulder to the hidden shadow that was her father, and felt a stab of guilt in her gut. I'm sorry, Dad.
Then she was gone.
The falls rumbled on as Het Vuur flattened himself against the cool cavern wall, wishing he could melt into it and disappear. Faintly he was aware of the prickly pain of burrs being pressed further into his filthy coat by the hard stone, but they were the least of his worries right now. His breath came quickly and he could feel sweat lathering between his loins; his eyes he shut tight, as if even looking at the little mare was too much. The tension in the air was palpable; his muscles burned with the desire to flee, though he knew it would have been a wasted effort. And he trembled.
“So you finally tracked me down,” he grumbled. “Go ahead, take a chunk out of me. I know you want to.”
het vuur & rook
EE/aa & Ee/aa friesians
father and son
18hh & 16’3hh
17 & 10 |