Common

Since the two stallions had traversed the Peak’s mountainside, Ashteroth had found no other adversities. It did not mean the sisters had not been challenged, but the young blue roan mare had not thrown herself into battle (aside from a few spars), letting Khar’pern keep the would-be monsters at bay. Never a slouch, Ashteroth had instead worked on building her stamina and strength. Quietly climbing the steepest trails each day to harden the muscles of her thick frame, while she grew in experience each season. Someday, she hoped to be the force she saw her mother as. Someday, she hoped to be a worthy member of the Peak.


It was with no real cause that today she would choose to take a trail at the mountain’s base, drifting out onto the flatter lands of the Crossing where strangers might mingle. Without meaning too, the blue roan made her way to the Commons, but she didn’t need to carry the fear another mare might. The sharp mountain scent on her coat was like armor, giving Ashteroth a sense of satisfaction. But that feeling quickly fled her when a musk so familiar it might as well have been her own, filtered into her ebony nose.


It was him. The stallion from Tinuvel. The one that caused her blood to run so hot, she felt as if it would melt her from the inside out. That strange feeling he always left her with, wasn’t the only thing to cause her skin to flush with heat. Anger tightened the muscles in her body, making her stop a feathered hoof and snap her thick banner from one flank to the other. Black ears twist into her split mane that lay on either side of her neck, before they pushed forward again. Realization dawned on her, as the bloody mare’s scent mingled with his own. It wasn’t her he had come from, but some other mare.


Not one to turn tail and run from the situation, Ashteroth picked up a lope across the flat land until she saw the two. The mare was young, but clearly not meek, and for a moment she thinks it only deserves him right that he could not simply take so easily. It does nothing to slow her stride though; only the jarring collision she takes into the painted beast as she slams her shoulder into his with a furious squeal.


Twisting so that her hip would press against the stallion’s, while her shoulder remained against his, Ashteroth’s gapping mouth reached for his neck, his chest, the muscle atop his legs. Biting and thrusting her hardened body against him as any stallion might. For now, the younger mare is forgotten. Her blue eyes solely for the stallion she sought to punish for so many reasons with the intensity of a storm. But her actions would remain in Ashteroth’s mind for later; knowing that anyone who could stand their ground as she had, would make for a worthy sister of the Peak.


ASHTEROTH