Her question cuts through the air like a knife, and Solgar is so surprised by its bluntness that he says nothing. He watches her from the corner of his eye, noting how she doesn't seem her usual self, that she seems... nervous, almost. Oh, no. I know what this is about. Trust this issue to be the one thing to weaken Winter's strong reserve.
He snorts when she continues onwards, half in distaste and half to rid his nostrils of the permeating scent of the mare's heady hormones. He can feel his stomach tightening, both with desire and discomfort. In such moments as this, he is all too aware of the battle between mind and body, flesh and soul. She could have just lifted her tail for me. Would've been much more effective.
"You want a foal." It's not a question. The stallion pivots to face her, his breath steaming in warm, puffy clouds in the space of air between them. His expression is devoid of emotion but for the faintess crease of concern between his eyes. He thinks of the colts she had mentioned - Governer, the abandoned roan yearling and Flynt, Avalanche's child from a previous engagement - and feels only anxiety.
Children, everything about them, from their high voices and gangly legs, their neediness and helplessness, to their undeveloped minds, their naivete... make him uncomfortable. Yet he knows that he is going to be a father one way or another, for it is his duty as a stallion. He might even say it was his destiny if he believed in such a thing. And if I'm going to enjoy the pleasures of sex, I might as well expect the outcome. Hell, Neassa might even be pregnant by now.
It's almost funny how, in a way, the gender roles have been reversed. He might laugh if it wasn't such a serious and life-changing matter.
"Does it really matter what I think?" he states simply, watching Winter with dark eyes.
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