His ploy works: the black mare’s gaze flickers to him and he stands tall and ready, every bit of him flexing toward her, eyes intent on her face as her ears come forward. Then Psych steps around him and ruins the moment by bickering, and the Kladruber’s attention shifts away. Adrenaline washes through Kendryand he draws in a deep, uneven breath as he tries to calm himself. Smashing Psych into the ground is unreasonable, he tries to tell himself, but is unconvinced that sudden violence would not be worth all consequences if it would bring those magnificent eyes back to him one more time.
He’s ready to stomp the little mare, too, as the statuesque draft’s attention moves further away from him. Kendry presses his hooves firmly into the ground to avoid doing anything rash. He can barely register the words that rattled between his brother and the black mare, can barely breathe for the heavy wave of need crashing through his skull and frothing under his skin. Kendry takes another breath. The mares are talking, exchanging names, and his ears catch on the foreign syllables that must identify her. He wants to hold it in his mouth, feel the roundness of each vowel, savor the way it slips out through the teeth.
“Božena,” he says, and now that he has a way to claim her attention satisfaction eases the tension in his legs. He takes a step forward, doesn’t notice the deep imprints he’s left in the dirt from the pressure he’s exerted harmlessly against the ground, doesn’t yet feel the strain in his legs that will ache all day tomorrow. Kendry needs to know her, needs her to know him. Psych and the smaller mare are completely forgotten in this moment as the perlino stretches his nose out to the Kladruber, an invitation to exchange breaths, his blue eyes locked on hers. “I am Kendry.”
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