The black stallion stood beneath a towering pine, its branches extending to block out the failing light of the rapidly descending sun. A familiar and churning feeling knotted in his belly and he knew what it meant.

He cursed his body; that hormones should rule his head and send him slinking to her side more and more each night. That’s what he told himself. It wasn’t the allure of her nature and conformation. It wasn’t that she understood him because they were, in essence, the same. No it was the hormones and he cursed them to the very depths of hell as he fought the urge to go to her again. He’d kept away the past few just to spite her and himself.

Her call broke the silence of his nettled thoughts and he sneered at her audacity. That she should come now when he thought of her. That she would come here, into his home, as if she owned the place and expect him to go running at her beck and call.

He snorted, black tail snapping angrily at his mud splattered hocks. He would not go to her. She could wait for an eternity and rot for all he cared. Except.

Despite himself, he emerged from the trees to her left. “Careful.” he warned amusedly, running his muzzle from her hip, along the line of her barrel. “Anyone would think that you missed me”. There was a smug confidence to his stance, though perhaps no more than usual. He sucked in her scent and huffed a heavy breath on her shoulder as he came to a halt. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation” he smirked. He wouldn’t tell her that he was glad to see her because he wasn't. The anger boiled violently because he knew that he was.