Nilfuniel, she introduced herself as, and Castillon tried to hold the way she’d pronounced her name in his head, particularly after she admitted most struggled to say it in its entirety. Maybe he wouldn’t immediately be able to use her full name, but he’d repeat it to himself again and again, hoping to impress her by “happenstance” when he managed to use it. For now, the commonly used name she gave was… well, rather cute, he thought. Nils.
Castillon’s dark, warm brown eyes appraised her brightly. “Nils,” he repeated her nickname and his smile widened just to say it aloud. As she began to walk a slow circle around him, Castillon lifted his dark chin and arched his neck proudly, sliding his gaze to her as a grin curved his lips. His dark tail, streaked with a few stray strands of white, flagged off his pale hind and flicked playfully out near her when she’d walked near him. The strands didn’t quite touch her pale, feminine figure, but stirred the air between them, hopefully enough that she’d feel it’s inviting brush.
“Why thank you, Nils,” he responded as she complimented his coat, grin growing. “I could say the very same about you.” Briefly his eyes trailed across the splatters of white that just barely broke the soft cream across her pelt. Dreamily, he wondered what it might be like to rub his whiskered lips slowly along their edges, tracing them. Would she shiver?
She asked his age and Castillon’s eyes lifted back to hers. “Three,” he replied confidently, even though he was technically just a season behind the age. He could tell she was no inexperienced filly, and he was desperate to impress her enough that she wouldn’t dismiss him. “I’ve been told I’m very mature for my age.” Not exactly, or… ever, really. But given that he was on the cusp of being given leadership responsibilities and expected to keep his own herd, Castillon was desperate to prove himself to everyone, not just his family, not just himself, but even strangers. He wanted to be something great. He wanted to be the one his father one day left the entirety of the Prairie to.
“I’m pretty sure I remember being told it’s rude for a stallion to ask a mare her age,” he said with a bit of humor touching his tone and even dancing a bit in his eyes as he smiled at her. “So I’ll keep the conversation pleasant and avoid asking.” He let out a breathy laugh. “I’d rather avoid making you angry with me so soon into our meeting.”
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