zaia

Zaia decides to make one last stop on a third island before she returns to the Crossing. After all, no one waits for her there. She has all the time in the world and she makes good use of it as she strolls across the loose sands of Salem. There are hills made of sand here and she surges up a particularly tall one at a run. She is out of breath at the top: going uphill is never an easy task unless the slope is gradual, and running in sand is much more challenging than flat ground. The red dun stands for a moment and looks around. Far in the distance, where the Crossing would be, is a dark mass of clouds. It is good she decided to wait. Zaia is not fond of the rain.

She half runs, half slides down the other side of the sand dune and trots further into the territory when a loud bellow rings out. The voice is deep, and quite close, and the Kiger mustang wastes no time in altering her course to locate the vocalizer. This time it has to be a stallion. Zaia has only met mares in the year and a half she has been on the Islands, and while friendships are all well and good, she wants to feel her stomach flutter and her heart race. She wonders what he looks like as she climbs over a smaller stack of dunes. She smells water, and testosterone. Yes! Zaia can see the stallion standing beside a watering hole, and she hastens down the slope. He is dark, and as she levels out and makes her way to stand on the opposite side of the pool from him, she guesses he is about her height. So much for tall. At least he was dark, and his nose! Definitely handsome.

Zaia arches her neck and points her ears at the stallion. “Hello,” she says under her breath, and then gives her muzzle a small toss before she dunks her nose into the water. She’s only ever been around the stallion of her mother’s herd, and her brothers. She’s never interacted with a male she hasn’t been directly related to, and her appreciation of his physical attraction has flustered her. She drinks slowly to avoid accidentally choking herself and lifts her head once she’s had her fill. She can feel water dripping from the whiskers on her chin as she speaks, her voice pitched to carry this time: “You called?” Smartass, she kicks herself internally.