NYMERIA
As the hard, biting pellets of half-frozen rain drummed on her back, Nymeria watched the other mares carefully. Most of them ignored her completely, continuing to graze or doze or look wistfully in the stallion's direction as they had already been doing. Nymeria flicked an ear back with frustration. Did this mean acceptance on their part, or refusal? She knew what it would mean in her homeland, but she half-hoped the islanders' ways were still foreign enough to her that she was wrong. She snorted water out of her nostrils and considered moving towards one of them, to test them and see if they would make way for her, which would be a sure sign that they accepted her as naturally dominant. Just as she was tensing the muscles in her legs to do so, however, movement caught the corner of her eye.
She swung her head around to watch Brynja approach, her sodden ash-grey mane swaying in strings with the movement. Nymeria continued to stand tall, determined not to back down in the face of the other mare's confident presence. Her ears were pricked and her dark eyes were watchful. She liked Brynja, but she was perfectly aware of how the red mare held a similar attitude towards herd life to her own, having keenly observed her body language on more than one occasion. She was certain the red mare must like her too, but would she challenge Nymeria's assertion of dominance?
Nymeria tensed when Brynja came right up to her, but she did not move, and after hesitating a moment with uncertainty, she extended her nose to touch the other's soft snout and exchange breaths. There was no pushing or shoving, no squealing or biting or snorting. Brynja was not challenging her, but equally she was not quite being submissive either. The ball was in her court. Nymeria jerked her head away suddenly, causing a small spray of water as she bobbed it up and down and side-eyed her herdmate with pinned ears. She stood as tall as she could and waited to see if her only friend in the forest would take a step backwards to appease her. Brynja might wish to discuss the matter of alpha mare as a true islander would, with words and ideas, but Nymeria was a bit more old-fashioned. Words were wind to her, nothing more. She only hoped the red mare would not hold it against her.
8; LIGHT DRAFT MIX; DAPPLE GREY; 16HH; SHIVA |