Common

my waves meet your shore, ever and evermore;

She doesn’t admire him, but Fearne will grant it that the little flitting golden stallion does not easily give up. Her hoof connected with his flank - she felt it, the give of his flesh beneath her foot, but he simply laughs and prances away. Her petite ears pin, and she snarls at him. Just let him come close again - Fearne will show him she is no wilting filly, not one to run from a fight. She listened to her mother and did it before, and look where it got her. Accosted in a strange, freezing land. Set upon by some foreign stallion who thinks he can order her about, who thinks that attacking her and drawing blood will force her into submission. Instead, she is incandescent in rage, her nearly-black eyes sparkling with hate as she watches him. The other stallion, the one who first approached her, has drawn in close. Fearne presses against him, shielding one side of her body with the bulk of his so that the pest has less access to her body. She makes a face at his words and then lets loose a pitying, sympathetic noise before she speaks, soft voice dripping with sarcasm. “Poor thing, so desperate for notoriety and so useless as a stallion that you have to force your attention on an unwilling mare. It must pain you to know no one would ever willingly choose you - mares can tell a waste of our time when we see it.”

It seems as if perhaps the stallion who aids her, who so kindly offered to warm her, knows who this is, demanding he return to whatever sad home he had come from. Fearne listens closely, but even with their united fron and their common threats they have little effect. The little gold one retorts, and Fearne snorts in anger, but doesn’t bother with another reply. Clearly, there is no reasoning with him; better to focus her efforts on defending herself. Every time he draws in close behind her, Fearne kicks out as hard as she can, driving him back and angling to connect a solid kick to his head. When he circles, draws along her front, she presses the advantage of her height to extend her head as far as possible and bite at whatever skin she can catch.

The trio hold like this for a long time, swiping at each other, slowly but surely drawing blood in tiny nicks and nips before she finally speaks again, voice dripping with venom. “Kill me where I stand, little pest, and drag my body back with you because that is the only way I will go anywhere with you.” Fearne means it, the conviction clear in her voice and every line of her body held tense. He can pester her, draw blood until she fades away in the snow at their feet but she will never go with him willingly.