fenrir


The breeze and the rising sun warmed his skin, unlike the spotted mare’s stare which was as cold as ice. Luckily for Fenrir, he knew how to survive the cold. The aroma of the succulent grass lingered in his nostrils, and its taste in his mouth. He couldn’t help but reflect on the shame it was that he did not get to graze for longer before being interrupted. He snorted at the mare’s words, repressing a laugh. ”And what would I want with a crown?” he remarked honestly. Fenrir wanted fame and fortune. He wanted to be remembered in the eons to come as a great stallion; a fearsome warrior and protector. He wanted glory and he wanted many children to continue his legacy. While he might be happy to claim mares and protect the herd he subsequently formed, he had no interest in leadership; that was a woman’s work. He was no king.

She circled him as his Menkhet had done, and he wondered if she might be his too. The moment Menkhet had spoken her name, he had known that she was his, and so too that he was hers – not that she ever knew it. He had never had the chance to let her, or the boy with the spotted rump, know that they belonged to him, and him them. Should they cross paths again, however, they would know they had his loyalty.

His gaze followed the spotted mare’s path.

Breeder, she called him (and the rest of his gender). He considered that for a moment, and the rest of her words before responding. ”I am not sure where you have been living, Prinsessa, but where I am from we are equals, mares have always led the herds while stallions protect it. An equal partnership.” He met her gaze as she faced him, not faltering beneath it. ”It would appear that you are behind the times. You condemn and judge me for my gender, just as you believe I would condemn and judge you for yours. Maybe it is your world that should be changing.” How she responded may forever forge his loyalty or complete distaste of her presence. Was she truly so intolerant or was it just the way she had been raised?