Common

She doesn’t have to wait long, and by the time the bay and white stranger draws close, Syrah is practically vibrating with excitement. Her head is up, ears pricked forward and she’s stopped pretending to eat - it was a farce anyway, as she’s so eager her stomach is roiling with nausea. She’s never seen the stallion before – definitely not someone from Tinuvel, which is a step in the right direction.

He’s short compared to her, but he’s still handsome with a long mane and tail and white spilling across his muscular shoulder. The next thing that Syrah notices are his eyes, golden and warm and a color she has never seen before. All words of caution have flown to the wind, and she watches him with intent, innocent eyes.

He’s nice enough when he addresses her, and Syrah lifts her head, meets his eyes confidently. But she’s almost immediately confused, screwing up her face and flickering an ear back. “Dangerous?” she murmurs, surprised at his insistence. Why would it be dangerous here? Surely if there was any real harm, her mother would have warned her. Syrah isn’t quite the warrior her mother is but she hopes to be some day. After all, how is she going to eventually rule if she can’t even hold her own in a fight?

“I’m Syrah,” she tells the stranger, politely extending her muzzle in greeting. “And I don’t think I’m brave,” she adds. If she was brave, she would have left home much earlier. Or she would have approached someone first, rather than waiting over here in the corner for someone else to come to her.

“What’s your name? If it’s such a bad time to be out, why are you here?” she asks the stallion, equal parts curious and teasing. Maybe he’s one of those sort who think mares should never be out alone or something. If that's the case, Syrah won’t follow him anywhere. Her mother taught her better than that.