The stallion smiled good-naturedly at the filly’s uncertain squeak. He had had very little to do with children in his former life, but the time he had spent amongst them had been joyous. From wee babes to strapping young lads (really, they were not that much younger than him, but he felt ancient after the war), he had taken vast interest in their varied views of the world about them. Their innocence and untainted ways gave him hope that not all things in this world were sullied and ruined by the cares and toils that came later in life – at least for a little while, each individual was free of those things in the blessed naivety of youth.
As it were, he was not particularly sure why the young filly seemed to be quite so terrified of one of her own kind. Although he had of course heard of all sorts of atrocities and unspeakable acts, he had only truly seen those things once at war. He was curious, to say the least, to know more of the filly’s past. With that thought in mind, he once again cast a hesitant glance to the surrounding treeline, lest there be an angry mother barreling in his direction with teeth bared.
“My name is Poldark,” he replied warmly and stretched his neck forward to blow a soft, warm breath of greeting to the filly, “and yourself, lass? What is your name?” Straightening once again, the stallion shifted slightly and settled his weight more comfortably in the soft snow, heaving a sigh as he did. “Tell me, child, where is your mother? Surely you can’t be on your own in this cold,” he said suddenly, gaze turning serious as he once again eyed the girl’s trail through the snow.
stallion. cleveland bay. dark bay. sixteen-one. four.
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