mare; mérens horse; 14hh; black
3 years
no home

He doesn’t keep her waiting long. She hears him first, the soft padding of carefully placed hooves just beyond the big leaves, then a moment of quiet during which she can feel the eyes. Predatory eyes, she thinks, but the hairs do not raise on her neck; predatory eyes, perhaps, but not hunting eyes. At least, not yet.

When the owner of those burning eyes finally does step through the wall of jungle foliage between them, Nadine raises her light gold gaze to meet them. He is certainly easy to look at, she thinks, and easy to listen to as well as he comments about a roll in the sand. She offers him a delicate chuckle. ”Ah, well that would make sense,” she says, her voice lilted with the accent of her first tongue, French. ”I have never before swam in the ocean, until a few weeks ago,” she explains with a swish of her tail, turning so that she faces him head-on. She accepts the offer of his muzzle, her whiskers brushing against his enough to tickle and almost make her sneeze. ”Or walked on sand. I grew up in the mountains, you see; I have never seen such a place. It is beautiful.”

As he introduces himself, Nadine withdraws and tucks her velvet muzzle into the curve of her chest, displaying the fine lines of her crest. ”Nadine,” she says matter-of-factly. ”I assume, this is your home? How have you come to live in such a place?”

Nadine