He would be willing - somewhat willing - to admit that he had gotten quite comfortable with the life of a beta stallion. It was better than running about having to keep a head check on all his little trinkets like he had back when he'd been the ruler of Verona. But that hadn't been part of his original plan honestly. It was more out of necessity to prove a point to a particular two women that made him out though be some kind of monster crafted and shaped from those shadows of all mares' nightmares and horrors. They'd made him out to be the bad guy when he'd been more than one step ahead of the foolhardy and overly confident winged desert emperor and managed to steal away his darling silver doveling... He'd seen her on one of his ventures slinking along the borders of the nearby kingdoms, having grown born in the dreary forests of the broody overlord "infamously" named SkullFace. That was when it all rest started and he'd had no attempt to stop the metaphorical ball from rolling... He'd stolen Larka, plucked his delicate little bird from the comforts of her home, but when he'd approached her that day in "the coffin", the brainless queen had ruined his fun by looking down upon him with such.... disgust. They'd tried to gain up on him, make him feel like the lowest of the low as they spat insults at him. And he had taken each blow effortlessly with a devilishly handsome smile all the while promising them silently that if they wanted to see him as a monster, then he'd happily and wickedly oblige to their imaginings. So, what had the beast of bronze and bistre done? He had taken advantage of his p*ss-poor "king" and his absence and took over the forest - changing that nasty and drabby name for something much classier. He'd taken the harem hostage essentially, smugly knowing the harder silver queen down more than a few notches down to nothing more than a lowly wench. She'd taken to hiding from him after that, and it was without saying that he'd strutted around like an arrogant peacock to prove his point. If the queen wanted a monster to be her keeper, then so be it. Needless to say, she'd learned her lesson, no? Make him out to be a nightmarish fiend, and that's exactly what he'll be. Larka came to know this quite well, even after his short reign came to a rather abrupt end.

He held more respect for the robust warlord that ruled over the dale, though, and he would not hesitate to admit the only reason he kept Verona after snatching it so easily away from SkullFace, was to keep his little doveling caged. He could care less about anything else, it was really his pretty little bird that he cared about. He had worked to break her down; spirit, hopes, and all. And he had succeeded. When they'd fled from the dense forested realm when the fiery mare Shezira and her ice cold companion had stormed the bordered and demanded his immediate surrender - which he had quickly submitted to as he knew the fiery woman would surely want his silvery dove - even without having bordered to keep her locked within, she stayed close to him (not that she'd had much of a choice). He could already feel his lusty nature rising to the surface, a coy smirk etching across his whiskered lips as he thought of the days and nights where he'd taken her beneath him, touched her hungrily and induced his intoxicating abilities upon her forcibly so that she was unable to go anywhere other than follow him. He had always been possessive of his darling dove, ensuring that she knew that even if she ever were to escape he would hunt her down and take her as he had countless times over. With time, he'd grown unusually fond and even more possessive of the metaphorically clipped doveling he'd made his, although he never let her see what was truly taking place beneath his scared chocolate and caramel skin. He'd hidden her away until finally he had convinced Rhaego to let them stay and that he would not touch Larka. She didn't know of this deal he'd made with the robust king, but she didn't need to as far as he was concerned. Time went on and he had found himself growing lazier as he settled into the lifestyle of beta stallion once more, and slowly he allowed his precious bird a little more room - although he was always sure that she did not wander too far.... When the storm came and she was nowhere to be found, he'd been slow to hunt for her. Why? He was without question quite confident that when he did search for her, he would easily be able to take her again. So why rush?

Little did he know, laying beneath his tree with audits drooped lazily the either side of his proud Spanish head, that he wouldn't have to hunt for her at all. The gently stirring winds brought to him the scent of another, but he didn't even bother to open his mocha hues. Whoever it was, they were welcome to just stand there and look at him as long as they wanted. He was comfortable where he was, he had no agendas with any of the other equines that resided here, so he was easily able to shrug off the feeling of eyes upon his skin. It was going to take much more than simply staring at him to get him to even lift an ear... Then, one of the only two things that would cause him to wake from his afternoon doze caught his attention as quickly as a wounded sparrow to a curious cat. Her sweet scent was instantly recognised, the soft crunch of snow beneath her weight telling him that she was drawing rather close. Instantly, he is awake and almost scrambling the his obsidians as, with a grunt and groan he hoisted himself upwards to his full bulk when she comes to stand a small distance away from him, a single word slipping past her velvetines. His jaw almost grew slack at her new air of confidence and sassy nature as she folded her pretty wings along the gentle curve of her slender back, pausing only briefly as she attempted to hurt him with witty insults. Some stallions might have been enraged, offended, amused.... However, none of these were what he felt. He found her new sense of self to be extremely arousing. Mischief comes to life in his dark gaze as he shifts his musculature (while he has been a bit lazy, he may have only gained a little weight perhaps) so that the defined muse in his shoulders rippled and flexed beneath his scarred skin, arching his nape proudly - almost playfully of such a thing could ever be said about the stallion - as he ushers a soft snort from quivering nares.

"Mmmm, I love it when you talk like that, my sweet."

His rich, silken baritones ushered into the air like honey as he is quick to take a few high and showy steps to close the distance between him and his doveling as he almost travers towards her with his effortless lateral movements, holding his head to the side ever so slightly with nape arched with powerful limbs crossing over each other as he sidles up to her boldly as he swings his powerful hindquarters around to bring him parallel to her. His movements, though short lived where like that of a skilled dressage horse thanks to his rich heritage, almost as though at one point he'd had a human atop his strong back. Ah, but such was simply the gift of natural power and Spanish fluidity in his movements. She may try as hard as she wanted to deny it, but it was undeniable that he was a handsome beast and he knew it. If he had brows, he would certainly be wiggling them as he encroached on her personal space, relishing in the closeness and three warmth that resonated from her skin.

"I love this new sense of self you seem to have found, darling dove of mine. It is quite.... becoming of you."

His honeyed tones were nothing more than a mere whisper to her flattened ears that pressed against the luscious sabled tresses that cascaded beautifully down the hay he elegant arch of her nape, allowing his lustful gaze to run wildly across the delicious womanly curve and contour of her sleek frame, savoring every little detail from the way each feathered lay so perfectly in place along the structure of her wings to every curvature that shaped her into the dazzling creature she was, even moreso than before with the way she held herself now. He waits, curious and almost hungry to see what her reaction might be, regaining from caressing her warm, sweet, tempting skin... at least, for now.


__________________________________________

I'LL GIVE YOU FEELINGS
THAT YOU WON'T WANNA FIGHT
__________________________________________

Bastille

Stallion

9 years

Lusitano

Seal Brown Cream (Brown Buckskin) [image!]

Two hind socks, thin blaze in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, starting in a pointed star in the center of his forehead and ending in a thick snip between his nostrils.

Ee/A^ta/nCr/nSpl