NYMERIA
Just before it happened, Nymeria caught a flash of something in Brynja's eyes which she did not like. She tensed, unconsciously flagging her ash-colored tail as her counterpart did the very opposite of what she had hoped, by taking a step closer, thus pressing into Nymeria's space, rather than backing away. As the cold, hard rain continued to bite insistently at her skin, the draft mare continued to side-eye Brynja with her whites showing. With ears still pinned flat against her crest, she held her ground and uttered a deep, haggard snort of warning.
She could feel her child stirring within her, turning and rippling beneath her skin. It reminded her that she must be careful, that not even earning the herd's respect was worth endangering the life of her unborn foal. Mind you, she did not think that Brynja had any intention of savagely attacking her, but considering the position they found themselves in, she was not sure what else she thought. Heart thumping ferociously in her deep chest, she waited a few seconds, then a few more. Neither of them moved. The ball was in her court.
Her instinct was to flail and squeal and bite, to chase Brynja around the sodden borders of the clearing, to make an example of her in front of the others. But she would not do that. She lifted her front left leg, the one closest to the red mare, and held it in the air for a second, before placing it back on the soft, wet grass. Her throat was tight with anger, but she forced the words up and out of her windpipe, blinking as rain trickled into her eyes. "You doubt me?" The words, rather than being clipped and terse, were heavy with something like sadness, which she had not intended.
She watched Brynja, her face empty, and hoped their friendship would not suffer because of this.
8; MEDIUM DRAFT MIX; DAPPLE GREY; 16HH; SHIVA |