The morning sun was warm and comforting against the dark, fluffy hide of the stallion as he stood in the fresh, salty breeze that blew in from the roaring ocean. Once again on the beach, he felt more at ease, and the frown that had previously wrinkled his forehead slowly eased into a look of soft contentment as his eyes drifted closed. He felt he could stay as he was forever, slowly being washed over by the tides and turned from flesh and blood into salt and sand. He truly believed that to be so absorbed by the ocean would be the most blissful way to spend the rest of his forever.
He had not heard the soft footfalls of the young filly that was currently caught in a panic-stricken staring contest with his flank, but as the wind off the ocean shifted, he was brought a whiff of her fresh, strange scent. Surprised, the stallion’s eyes flicked open sharply and he turned into the breeze, catching sight of the slender, dark body of the filly. For a moment, he could only stare back at in her as she stared at him – in wide-eyed disbelief. After a moment, a soft chuckle of laughter gurgled in his throat and he shook his head, a wry smile growing on his lips. You’ve gone soft, Poldark my lad, he thought bemusedly, and started to saunter slowly toward the young, dark-skinned lass.
“Good morning, miss,” he began, once he was within normal talking distance (he felt that if he had raised his voice, even in the slightest, the filly would have disappeared into the forest with a flourish of heels and soft, dark tail), “It’s a fine morning, wouldn’t you say?” As he spoke, his ears flickered cautiously, wondering briefly where exactly the filly’s mother – or father, for that matter – was lurking, or if she even had parents at all.
stallion. cleveland bay. dark bay. sixteen-one. four.
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