Common

Chelle expects the bolder of the two men to rise to her challenge first, and is briefly surprised when he yields willingly to his rival— giving Cain the opportunity to speak first. But as she turns her head and pitches her ears forward to listen to the piebald stallion speak, the amber mare is struck by the cleverness of Solomon’s ’courtesy’. It was a move that her grandsire Judas might have made— allowing his enemies to speak their mind freely first, so that he might turn the benefits of both time and persuasion in his own favor after. In any case, the freckled girl vows to listen to both fully and impartially as Cain begins to speak of his past and his home. And for the most part, she succeeds— save when the intensity of Solomon’s gaze draws her own.

Heat pools beneath the surface of Chelle’s skin again and she inhales shakily, green eyes sweeping demurely— apologetically— back to the Gypsy-blooded male. What Cain has described so far is not without its merits, particularly where he describes his willingness to hear what his subjects say. But if there is any fault that she can find in his words, it is that she herself seems to be mentioned mostly as an afterthought. Cain’s pride in his journey and in his family is evident, and valid— yet Chelle cannot help but to wonder whether there is truly a place for her there. After wandering for so long, the thought of accompanying him home as a guest and not a resident is more disheartening than reassuring. More than anything— even freedom— the young mare craves permanence; certainty.

And in that, Cain with his placid kindness has fallen short.

Not that Solomon is without his own share of glaringly-obvious flaws. After a beat of silence, the tall slender stallion is quick to insert himself figuratively between them— his attempts at coercing the red-haired woman ending just shy of outright tyranny. For a moment, Chelle is not certain whether she should admire his temerity or glower at his arrogance. So she settles for watching him with a neutral, expectant expression until he speaks again. In a brief summary, Solomon counters everything that his competition has offered with something equally compelling but just as uncertain. Because again, he describes his home and herd first, and her own place within it only as an afterthought— though in this case, at least this belated comment carries a taste of what she’d been seeking: a desire to not only claim her, but to keep her.

But Chelle is no closer to a decision now than she had been when they first shared the merits of their home. To buy herself a few precious seconds, she tosses the tangled strands of her mane back from her face and shifts her weight from one set of limbs to the other. When it is over, she glances at Solomon again— and the intensity of his gaze gives her an idea, albeit one that frightens her as much as it thrills her. Because she cannot be certain of anything that might follow such an invitation. Even with as much kindness and honesty as both stallions have shown her, there could still be dark secrets lingering beneath their light words. “Your homes sound equally wonderful,” she begins in a voice that wavers only subtly, stepping forward to curl first around Cain’s muscular figure, and then around Solomon’s in a gentle brush of warm skin.

“But I was hoping to know you, not your past or your families or the place that you live. And my father once told me that our deeds describe us more than our words.” Tense, expectant, Chelle paused in front of both and waited. “I can only know you when I've seen you at your worst, as well as your best. So show me.

Show me who you truly are, and I will show you who I am in turn.”