zaia

When he speaks, Zaia has to fight to keep from laughing in his face. She is not a master of emotions or of speech, and she ducks her head to hide her amusement at his matter-of-fact words. Perhaps in time she will come to learn to control herself better, but for now she shakes with silent laughter and hopes the distance between them will protect the stallion’s pride from her mirth.

He rounds the pool and she snorts before she jerks her head up. She is determined to be serious but has to press her lips together to hide her smile. She likes that he has made her laugh. When he is close enough to touch her, Zaia feels her heart skip a beat and rocket in her chest. Her breath comes out in short, quick bursts due to her nervousness as they exchange scents and she hopes he doesn’t interpret it as fear or that she favors him. Either would be reasonable assumptions. “Well, no,” she admits when he pulls away, feeling breathless. He is much more attractive up close. “You’re here, so I guess that makes two of us,” she continues with a broad grin as her eyes linger on the bridge of his nose. Unusual, but the exotic feature makes him more attractive to her. Zaia decides she’ll stick around for awhile and see how well they get along. He doesn’t have to know she doesn’t live in the Dunes and was, in truth, just passing through.

“Where are you from? Your nose—” she stops, bites her lower lip. It would be more rude to leave her question unfinished than to ask it at this point, and she is aware that while she is amused by this whole encounter (in a fluttery-stomach, my-heart-is-going-to-burst-you-are-so-close sort of way) it’s entirely possible the feeling isn’t mutual. He’s about the same height as she is, but Zaia is willing to overlook this because he fulfills the other two requirements she has pulled from fairytales told to her by her dam as a filly. “I’ve never seen someone with your kind of nose before. It’s very nice,” she concludes, and breathes in sharply. He even smells good.