Common

(cw for strong language)

Valentina is so over it. This stallion, this conversation, this whole goddamn island, she just wants to be done with it, but as she attempts to make her exit, he opens his mouth again, speaking words she cannot recognize. The mare pauses, slowly turning her head to meet his withering stare with one of her own - and just as he's finished, just as she's starting to understand the meaning behind his remarks, her eyes widening with shock, he slams into her, pushing her back in the direction of the coast. "How dare you!" she shouts, kicking with her hind legs towards his snapping teeth. She wheels about, turning her vulnerable hips out of reach, and darts forward like a viper, aiming to seize her own pound of hard-earned flesh.

"I don't give a fuck," she hisses, "what you think your stupid Norns did, and I'm not your ay-dee-mark-whatever!" Valentina snorts, her fiery breath filling the small space between them, and lashes her tail against her hocks, not caring if the whiplike threads cracked across his face.

"You want to know who I am so damn bad? Fine! I," the young mare says, "am Valentina, my mother is expecting me on Salem, and my father -"

is no longer here to protect you.

That realization paralyzes her, giving her assailant the perfect opportunity to knock her off-balance. She stumbles back, falling over her own hooves like a newborn, and barely manages to stay upright. For the first time, fear - real, sobering, bone-chilling fear - trickles down her spine, whispering that maybe it is better to shut up and give in. To go meekly wherever this more dominant opponent asks, and to do whatever he says, in the hopes that he might not crush whatever soft, vulnerable bits of her life force remained threaded within his powerful grasp.

Unfortunately for him - and, collaterally, for herself - Valentina hated being told what to do. By anyone, including her own instincts. And so, in spite of her own better judgement, she flattens her ears against her skull, throws her weight into her core and digs her hooves into the loamy soil beneath them, refusing to budge an inch.

"If you want me to go with you," she pants, sweat pricking along her forehead and between her narrow shoulders, "you're going to have to make me," and moves to rend the seam along his cheek where black and white fur meet.