Common

done a lot of things wrong; loving you being one

Before she can even wrap her overstimulated brain around this entire interaction, another mare crashes through the brush around them, skidding into their clearing and sidling right up to the strange pair. She’s golden-brown, her side marked with scattered white and she has striking blue eyes in a dark face. Hollis immediately notes that she is just as pretty as the first arrival, and assumes that she must have stumbled upon the core herd who resides here. Perhaps he collects them? Pretty, painted little mares to fill up his land. Hollis takes a frightened step backwards at the thought, glancing rather frantically around her. There’s nowhere for her to run, boxed in on all sides except for the path in front of her, blocked by their three solid forms. This new mare is familiar to the others and is boldly unhesitant in initiating contact, muzzle pressing against the stallion’s shoulder then the filly’s rump, and Hollis watches intently. Surely this stallion can’t be so dangerous if both of these mares are willing to get so close, and to be so physical with him.

The new mare starts speaking almost right away, and Hollis struggles to parse all of the words; they’re rapid and high-pitched, as if she’s nervous or excited. Hollis has no idea why the other mare would be keyed up - she’s outnumbered here three to one, and couldn’t make a successful run for it if she’d tried. She blinks, ears turning back and then pricking forward as she tries to make sense of what she’s hearing. Mostly, the words mean nothing. The Commons? The Peak? Those aren’t places she’s familiar with. Hollis lets out a soft, terrified little moan, then winces when she realizes she couldn’t bite it back. Where has she washed up? None of this is familiar. She hadn’t exactly wanted to stay where she was, certainly not in that herd, but to abandon her whole life? Her family, her friends, her whole world? It’s terrifying. Running was one thing, being willing to die an entire other. But being stranded somewhere, living and never able to return? It’s a terrifying thought that Hollis tries desperately not to dwell on. The only saving grace, the only interesting or useful bit of this is that whatever this Peak is, it’s led by mares.

“No stallions?” she asks, and her voice is still hoarse even after the water. It sounds impossible, like a pipe dream Hollis couldn’t even have conjured in her wildest dreams. But perhaps not in whatever this strange place is? Certainly the group before her is unlike anything she expected, or has ever experienced before.

It’s easy to see that this tall, silent red stallion defers to the mares of the group. The newest one speaks for the group, and the stallion listens, takes a step back and presses against the first mare’s shoulder. Hollis takes it all in silently, and when the offer is extended she agrees instantly. “Please,” she manages to grate out. She’s got no idea what might be dangerous here, but if she can go somewhere that won’t be anything like what she’s running from, somewhere with no threats and no one to hold her captive, she will take any chance. Her gaze falls on the stallion in the group, and she tries to fight off the frown marring her face. “What about him? Is he...will he go to?” The scars still make her nervous, and his silent, imposing form is at odds with the two bubbly, friendly mares before her.