She dashes away from him, and he follows, slipping in the first of the autumn snows in the process, but following hot on her heels nonetheless. This is the first time in a long time he has ever truly 'courted' a mare, and it's a strange yet liberating feeling which seems to set his very bones alight with the flame of youth. His mind is fuzzy in equal parts with excitement and desire, yet also slight frustration. He understands that she is being playful in the manner that fillies use when they know that a colt has a crush on them, but he wants nothing more than for her to stop moving so that he can feel the intoxicating heat of her skin against his.
Oh, he feels two years old again.
She curls around a tree with her tail lashing mischievously, and he hesitates in place with his neck arched and nostrils flared, unsure of what she will do next. When she whinnies, he answers her with a low, gutteral nicker and then, instead of chasing after her backside, he trots to the side of the tree that displays her face and front end (knowing how his own kind find it difficult to back up), his teeth bared playfully at her as if threatening to nip at her cheek as a form of light punishment for running away from him.
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