So much for running out her restless energy. Without Faolain and Rivaini as buffers, Solomon has full access to the golden mare, and true to his character he seizes the opportunity to work his own spells upon her. Çiçek, a creature almost perpetually in motion, grows still again under his touch, nostrils fluttering to take in as much of his intoxicating scent as she possibly can. The way his muzzle grazes the soft curve of her cheek stokes the same embers within her that had roared to life minutes earlier, under the confident machinations of her guardians, but with it now comes a deep, aching need that only he can satisfy. She has felt this pull before with stallions, but never so strongly as with the whitesplashed king that now moves to bump her shoulder. Even this playful contact leaves her breathless. For once, Çiçek doesn’t have a smooth, calculated response for him in her back pocket, and so she relies instead upon the wordless language of their bodies to do the talking for her.

Her creamy coat twitches where he traces a path up the slender curve of her muscles, and she sighs, relishing in the wave of pleasure that runs like sparks down her spine. The mare curves her neck to trace along the white markings bordering just past the firm line of his jaw, following it up and into the multicolored strands of his mane, and finds the scent of pine stronger there. Again he lavishes her with compliments, earning a soft laugh against the taut bow of his crest for his efforts. Çiçek pulls her narrow face away, pushing her head under his chin and nosing at the pale flesh of his throat. Like a cat claiming its territory she winds her spotted form around him, maintaining the press of her barrel to his, dragging her pink lips down his neck to his withers and then along the curve of his spine. Her white tail swishes gently as her hindquarters pass under his nose, drifting like bright petal-bedazzled spider silk against his breast, and as she finishes her slow circle and comes to hold her chest once more to his, she cannot help the mischievous grin that pulls at the corners of her lips. “There,” she states plainly, as if she hasn’t just tested the limits of both of their control. “Perhaps the scent of my blooms on your skin will be enough for you to remember me,” she adds, “back in your flowerless Cove.” Their perfume, along with faint hints of evergreens and tropical blossoms, commingle in her senses until she cannot tell them apart anymore. Again the waves of her hormones rise within her, begging to pull him as close as she possibly can. The ghost of him is not enough, it cries. It wants all of him, every breath, every touch, fully, completely, and right now.

Çiçek fixes her gaze upon him for a long moment, warm eyes clouded with desire. Her shining physique wiggles against him just as it had with Faolain and Rivaini, lifting the same hind leg as before and stomping it to the ground, and she knows that if she does not put at least a modicum of space between them she truly will get carried away this time without thinking of the consequences of her actions. She cannot give in to her urges with Solomon like she might the mares she left on the beach, not without the possibility of tying her life to his forever with a child, and though she likes to have her fun she knows this is more than a passing flirtation. Her parents had raised her together, sure, but they were both nomads, wandering souls who never stayed in one place for long. The way the whitesplashed stallion constantly referred to his home on Tinuvel, the amount of times he’d extended an invite to her just on this visit alone… She had a hunch he would want her to join him there permanently, and yet the idea of being tethered to one spot, unable to travel of her own free will, looms shadowy in the back of her mind, souring the sweetness of the present moment. Çiçek takes a shaky breath, steeling herself, and takes a small step to the side, shuddering at the absence of his broad expanse against her own. “You make it so hard to concentrate, sevgili,“ she mutters to the ground, her voice hoarse with yearning. “Will you walk with me, for a minute? Along the water? We have a few things to discuss.” She lifts her gaze to meet his eyes again, her expression unshrouded, for once, by coy wordplay or carefully-fashioned structure. Çiçek takes a step closer to the point where the waves kiss the shore, not ten feet away on this thin strip of coast, and nudges the base of his neck as if to gently urge him forward. “We’ll be back to our little games before you know it,” she promises. She wants nothing more than to lose herself in him, to ease the knots of tension she’s held in her gut since she first saw him in the Meadow over a season ago - but she has questions, important ones, and if he wants her to ever come to him willingly, he will hear them over the clanging of the instincts that draw them together so powerfully.