e n c a n t a d o r
While on the outside the stallion oozes confidence as he travels easily across the familiar terrain, head held high and dark tail flagged, inwardly he can feel the pang of nerves gripping his gut. He is all too aware of Sylvia’s presence beside him - though for the time being he doesn’t meet her eyes - and all too aware of her alluring scent and soft voice. Why is she here? What does she want? he finds himself thinking, but he dares not let his secret, childish hope that she’s come in search of a new home get away with him. He clears his throat and chances a curious sideways glance at her, his brown eyes wide and gleaming.
”Don’t be silly,” he replies in a carefree tone as they pass over the crest of a sand dune. “Nothing ever happens here.” Except destitution and death. He can see the oasis just ahead, marked by its two stunted trees and towering half-buried boulder. While he’d recently expanded the territory to contain a generous stretch of prairie with a beautiful river snaking through it, he still likes the relative secrecy of the oasis: the way it is shrouded on every side by dunes. It's a nice quiet spot to bring guests to. Especially attractive ones.
When finally they arrive, Encantador positions himself to lean in what he hopes is a casual manner against the shady side of the boulder, and gestures to Sylvia to indicate that she should help herself to food and drink. The rock is cool against his warm skin, but it does little to soothe his inner qualms. He watches her with an uncertain expression and exhales heavily into the arid air. “It was kind of you to visit; I’m sorry my home isn’t more accommodating.” Encantador smiles sheepishly and rubs his shoulder against the rock.
six-year-old stallion of the desert; son of el barroco and writhe
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