The question of his face was bound to come up eventually, whether it was someone that was legitimately interested in the tale, or someone that only wanted to know what made the mark that sat on his face, he had suspected that a stranger, of sorts, would ask how the skin had been freed of its fur in that one spot.
It is the only spot on his body that seems to have suffered any sort of intense damage. The rest of his scars had been hidden by fur, as though his body had never been hurt- aside from the strange rub mark just to the side of his right nostril, settling between the smooth slope of skin where his cheek turned to his lips. Perhaps it could have been thought to be odd that the stallion held no hard feelings as to the origin of his injury, and so as the dark skinned mare settles into the sandy grass near him and asks of his face, he blinks.
When I was much younger, I ran with a band of stallions, as was common for young men where I came from. He thinks back to the deadly flat home he had been born into, where the sun could stipple skin and there was less water than needed to sustain large herds. His people had always been nomadic, from the herd that he had been born into that housed his mother and his many half siblings, to the group of bachelors that he had broken off into as a yearling. We often fought over women, many stallions breaking off from the group once they won a mate. The band I was in was constantly changing. I was never so lucky- but I got this just as I met the mother of my first child, and there was another stallion that wanted her.
The edges of his lips tweak downwards slightly as he thinks for a moment, speaking as though he were speaking to himself. It seems so barbaric when I look at it from here. badr The misguided jailbird. stallion. flaxen liver chestnut. unknown crossbreed. ee aa ff. fifteen & three hands. eight years. russell.
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