i've learned to love a little bit of blood in my wine - " />
The Lost Islands
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i've learned to love a little bit of blood in my wine

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The summer heat had begun to cool even in the tropical territory of Paradise. It allowed for the evenings to be balmy and pleasant rather than hot and humid as it had been often over the season. It had been one of those pleasant nights when the dark stallion left the confines of the jungle and dove into the surf. The sky glimmered overhead, alive with stars and the brightness of a full moon as his legs propelled him forward toward the coast of the larger island. It certainly wasn't a smart idea to dive into the teeming waters so late, if he wanted to avoid sharks. Carthage didn't know what those were anyway and held no fear. Perhaps that boldness -- and no small stroke of luck -- was what allowed him to reach the sands he sought.

Carthage took the last few hours of the night to rest in the upper wetlands just north of the Lagoon, an ear still cocked at the strange, far-off sounds of whooping cranes and ominous low hissing. The likes of which he had never heard before. The dark bay roused when dawn broke over the horizon in the east and made his way onward. He moved quickly over the ground like a trailing shadow in the early dawn. The stallion wandered for some time in the Commons, hours passing like minutes of his hooves found their way over the more trafficked paths. Horses dotted the landscape west and south, but he did not seek them out. Not yet.

A curiosity about the territory needled the stallion's senses, as did the sweet heady scent of mares. One, in particular, wafted pleasantly into his satin nostrils and drew him forward. The others he'd scented were far off. This lady? This lady, who might require his attentions, was much closer. A thrill of anticipation flushed hot blood through his veins as the stallion stalked toward the perfume's source. Even if she didn't require them -- or indeed even want them -- Carthage would see to her regardless.

A deliciously pleased smile twisted at his dark lips when, after topping a low hill, his crimson gaze beheld her. The autumn breeze ruffled her dark hair, sending a renewed flare of the mare's scent to him as if to beckon him forward. The Friesian-like male moved forward unhurried. He had no worries of her running away, not yet anyway. Crimson eyes lingered over every curvature of her body, making sure to flick directly to her eyes once she would turn to look at him. He had come from behind her right side and walked softly but not as if he disguised himself. Surely, if she sensed anything suspicious, she would panic. So, he would give her none. By the time his true intent was revealed, ideally it would be too late for her to do much.

"Hello," he purred amiably, "are you enjoying the cooler weather as much as I am?"


Carthage



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