The early morning sun is feeble against the muted tones of the season, and his thickening coat is slow to dry in the reduced warmth. His mind wanders to the mares that wait for him at home, and to those that remain stubbornly absent from him. Marzanna and her pride, Sabriel and her grief, Ylva and her distrust. Even within the Cove were mares he still needed to devote more time to getting to know. Mares like Eve and Wren, for whom he still had miles to walk to be back in their good graces. Others like Ysabel and Daciana, whose strength made it easy to wrongly assume they did not need his support as the others. He worried often for his missing enchantress, and for the foal she had been carrying when he'd last seen her. He did not doubt her abilities, but experience was sometimes not enough to stand against the cruel machinations of fate. He could only take the intermittent tracks of her scent as proof that she was still there... somewhere.
In truth, the members of his herd were the main reason he had spent so much of the summer at home. He owed it to his family to be with them as much as possible, having been the impetuous to them being driven together in the first place. After the wolf attacks and the subsequent unrest that had plagued them with the addition of Warsaw's herd, they deserved a few months of ease. With Bjorn dethroned and Ironclad in his rightful place, there was once more hope for a peaceful truce amongst the Tinuvel leaders, if not the slim possibility of a new monarch to lead them. The latter was highly unlikely considering Solomon held no favor or sway with the Bay queen, let alone with the stranger in the Arch, but Solomon could still dream of it. In truth, the power itself wasn't even the true allure of kingship. Solomon could care less whether his peers addressed him as your majesty or brother or friend, but a kingdom was a tangible legacy that he could pass showbiz to his children. A guarantee of something.
His musings are cut short by the arrival of the warrioress and his head lifts as she approached, his gaze shrewd. As usual, her face gives nothing away freely. Both of them had seemingly been schooled well enough in that respect to guard their emotions tightly to prevent them from being used as a weapon against them. Still, there are some clues to be seen. The slight stiffness of her posture tells him she's not wholly comfortable with Solomon's presence, which he assumes is only complicated by the season. He's not immune to it either, although he does everything he can to stay focused. All too easily he can bring to mind the disastrous consequences of the last time he'd allowed his hormones to get the better of him.
"Xiomara," he replies calmly, a ghost of a smile touching briefly on his lips. It is short-lived, given the subtle challenge in her next statement. He considers offering similar stabs against her leaving her children unguarded and her shores undefended but opts to simply leave it alone for now. Trading jabs with her now, while satisfying, would not lead him to the outcome he was hoping for.
"What, and miss the opportunity to chat with you?" The words, despite their light-hearted nature are delivered dryly. He still wasn't sure as to the purpose of her thinking, although her cool approach had settled some of his concerns. Not that he expected any requests for his 'contribution' to be accompanied by warm fuzzy feelings, but he would have expected more softness, even from her if it was a new child that she wanted. The thought of Xiomara doing anything that brought warm and fuzzy to mind was rife with cognitive dissonance.
"It's not my first choice of timing, no." He offers honestly after a pause.
"But I've come to find most alliances are about finding small compromises." Even if they do involve me standing on the Crossing on the first day of fall with a mare that would as soon chew off her own leg as invite me onto her back, he adds silently to himself.
Solomon cocks a hind leg pointedly and takes a breath to gather himself. Lifting his gaze back to the imposing warrior queen, he begins again, the pretense of teasing absent from his tone.
"Have you come to a decision about my request?"
Despite the fact that Xiomara had bested him on more than one occasion in physical confrontations, a part of him still resented the fact that he was coming to
her for an alliance. The years of his family's indoctrination rebelled against the very idea of counting a mare as his equal, let alone as a trusted leader. It squirmed beneath the surface of his thoughts, held in check only by the brutal reality that Xiomara
was a strong ally, her gender aside. Perhaps even more so because she was a mare.
Stallion | Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano | 17 Hands | The Cove