The Queen of Paradise turned her ears back at him and then bared her teeth, and Peyote was not fool enough to dismiss the meaning. He’d only just pulled himself a step back, turning his own black-lined ears back, when the large mare cried out with an angry squeal and moved. She was a brief blur of dark, shifting colors and snapping hair. Peyote’s blue eyes rolled, chin tucking back hard to his chest to protect his throat, and he swayed a little in step as his dark tail snapped out behind him.
He had anticipated the pain of a bite, but none came. Instead, the mare stopped before him, teeth still dangerously barred. He was no more safe now than he had been a minute ago, and as Peyote sized her up and considered the evening he’d spent, he knew he was too smart to pick a fight here today. Above all else, Peyote had been taught to survive, and he would do just that. After being battered around by the ocean and the storm, considering the apparent experience she had and clear passion for defense of her territory, picking a fight with her was going to be a losing battle. He hadn’t even seen what she was protecting; what if he engaged her in a fight only to come away with nothing?
No, there was nothing for Peyote here, and he recognized that quickly.
With an offended huff of air blown back at her that might’ve stirred her dark bangs, Peyote rolled his eyes with a clear attitude, pulling his white-face away with a jerk, which made his dark hair snap against his skin. For added measure he snapped out his black tail as he turned himself widely about, doing his best not to put her in his blind spot for even a mere second while he slowly retreated. As soon as they could be his gaze was back on her, even as he retreated diagonally to do so, slinking back the way he’d come and away from the land she protected.
Peyote was a thief, not a warrior; his pride came from stealing sweet things away right under the ruler’s nose - not from physically overpowering someone to rip their loved ones away. Maybe if he heard a brother speak in the Lagoon of trying to fight the Paradise queen he’d interject; or maybe he’d be curious enough to see what happens when someone decided to take her on. He could already think of a couple of his brethren he would be highly interested in standing back and watching for that fight.
He took one last look over at her, ears turned back and head low, displeasure written across his face before he turned about and trotted off into the jungle shadows, picking up his pace to retreat more quickly in case her patience ran thin and she decided to chase him down. Peyote would trail his way back to the Ridge, as that’s where he had spent his evening, and try to make sense of his direction from there.
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