He reached for her, but Poppy did not reach back. She considered it, even moving her head just an inch forward, but stopped and simply looked at his muzzle, where she knew she should bump hers to tease a few touches and take a few breaths. It was a customary greeting, and it was instinctual, but she kept her chin tucked back, eyes big and watchful on him. He answered her by not only giving her a name, but confessing something that made her eyelids narrow in studious curiosity.
He looked away from her, back at the ocean, but the varnish mare did not look away from him. Poppy’s eyes slowly trailed along the planes of his young face and then watched his red hair dance slightly on the ocean breeze.
“Poppy.” She answered simply enough when he asked her, then started to walk. Her pace was nothing more than a meander, and she did not stop until she had walked up alongside him. She glanced first toward him at her side, a sweeping study of the intricacies of the spots along his spine and haunches up close. This near, she could see where some of his red hairs were fading out, like his hue was softly seeping from his coat. Poppy looked over at him curiously, perhaps an uncomfortably long amount if he was paying attention to what she was looking at, then glanced back at his face, and then away at the distant horizon like he had.
“Why can’t you answer me honestly?” She asked, voice still somewhat soft and luring as she stood alongside him.
|
