Falls

Vodnik is not fixated on his own height, nor upon the height of others. Vodnik has always been big, bigger than everyone else. His mother was only half draft, so It didn't take long for the growing colt to surpass his own mother in both height and weight. His playmates were mostly average in size and build. Vodnik accepted, and even embraced his differences early on.

Growing up where the standard of beauty for mares gravitated towards the more petite and graceful, Vodnik found himself drawn to a smaller type, but there remains a part of him that prefers the curves of a baroque type or small draft to the sleek figures of a thoroughbred or Arabian. This is the first time he's seen a mare as drafty as this one, and he can honestly say he likes what he sees.

The red stallion's ears are pricked with interest, and his heart leaps with joy as the mare turns a welcome face. Her roan is a silver spray, like the mist shimmering near the falls, and her silvered mane is reminiscent of rays of sunlight filtering through the treetops of his wooded home. She is both brilliant and earthy. This is a color unlike any he's seen before.

And her height incites a subconscious inclination to respect her as an equal. The normally dominant stallion feels that if he is not physically looming over her, then he does not need to do so verbally either.

He listens to her words with a measure of seriousness, as he would have listened to his fellow bachelors, but he is quickly confused. His ears turn, not pinned, but lost in thought. "Are there any more of me? What do you mean?", he asks. Vodnik is not thinking in terms of draft versus hot blood. He casts quick glances at the other horses also sipping from this popular watering hole, and he knows she can't mean horse or stallion.

The mare's bold advances work to further establish her place in his mind as an equal, and not a subordinate. He too reaches out, drinking in her scent. She is definitely a mare, but she is different, so very different.