mare; arasien horse; 15hh; dappled palomino
2 years
no home
She did not fall asleep, but Fawn’s mind wandered so deep into the grains of sand on which her head lay that she may as well have been dreaming. She recalled her home, and blissfully only the scant few good memories of it, but this only made her sadder. She knew it was pitiful, but Fawn was not strong. She believed she was Wrong, or Incorrect, or Unworthy; but deep down some part of her was, still, determined to survive, and she slowly emerged from the labyrinth of memories when she felt the touch of teeth on her shoulder.
It was gentle, but she was still alarmed when she lifted her pale golden head to see what, or who, had brought her back to the present. Her eyes swept up the narrow legs, much like her own, to the muscular chest and slender neck and finally the chiseled face of the greying Arabian. He was close enough that the red strands of his mane brushed against her hide, but she felt no danger from him, and tentatively she accepted his puff of breath and sent one of her own toward him.
It took a moment for her to register his words - they sounded too good to be true, surely he was lying? - and in that time, they were joined by another. A fiery Akhal-Teke, anger written in the lines of her body, flew to the pair on the sand and hissed at the Arabian who had first approached her.
As they exchanged words, Fawn rose unsteadily to her feet. She had thought at first, based on her experience, that the ‘Teke had come to drive her away, but her intentions became clear to Fawn as the opposite. She was not sure how to handle the knowledge that someone was trying to protect her, but at her core she was grateful. She looked between the two desert breeds, and as the bloodmarked stallion addressed her again, she dipped her head submissively. ”Fawn,” she said simply. Her gaze rose again to the red mare who had flown to her defence, and she smiled gratefully. ”Thank you for your kindness,” she said softly, internally shying away from the anger that radiated from her. She knew it was righteous, and she appreciated it, but she had experienced so much of it already.
”If I have a choice,” she began, but her face darkened and her voice quieted to nearly a whisper. ”I have not had much softness in my life.” She turned to the Arabian, studying him again, trying to determine just by looking whether or not he was telling the truth. It was impossible, but his offer of help and care had given her hope, and she clung onto that desperately. She had nothing to lose, but much to gain from accompanying him. ”Thank you, stranger, for the softness you have shown me. I would follow you if you allow me.” She fell silent; Fawn was not shy by nature, but under the circumstances she was cautious, barely allowing herself to hope.
Fawn
