Despite the rapid rise and fall of his breast, there is a lack of animation in the golden eyes that regard the mare, an absence of expression on his face as she pulls away from him in apparent disgust. The palomino stallion is untouched by this show of disdain; hatred holds no sway over him anymore, he has grown accustomed to it. Observing the play of emotions across her face with a detached fascination a, Rade laughs once, grimly, as her cold speech douses the last remnants of his ardor's heat. Though amusements softens the fierce planes of his face, there is no warmth to be found in the depths of his amber eyes. There is nothing at all.

“We're all messes, Lovie. Some just hide it better than others.” Rade's sultry voice purrs as his eyes probe hers, searching for the spark that his own lack. It does not matter to him whether the emotions she feels are positive or negative, but she must feel something. There is only an undefinable chill to those glacial pools, however; the heat of passion is conspicuously absent from their depths. He has not touched her with his brief show of dominance, perhaps cannot touch her at all. There is a subtle shift in the mood; a grudging respect now evident as his gaze continues to bore into hers. Rade is standing on a precarious ledge, balancing on a knife's edge as his limbs carry him abruptly forward, closing the distance between their bodies again. He could fall of one end or the other, could deliver a crushing kick or a gentle caress. And there was rarely a way of knowing which was about to come.

His face softens, however, melts as he extends his muzzle tentatively to brush a welt that disrupts the patterns painted on her hide - a mark undoubtedly left by his own hooves. Exhaling a warm breath into the pucker of flesh, a brief remorse darkens his expression like clouds passing over the sun's golden face. “It wasn't my intention to hurt you," he murmurs regretfully.

stallion // mongrel // 15.1hh // 4 // palomino roan // reba
neassa x debonaire