Meadow

Brooding. Sulking. Either one of those words could describe the grulla stallion as he stomps through the woods. His ears laced into the tangles of his ebony mane. Every stride he takes propels him away from Tinuvel. His chance to own a part of his birthplace was thwarted by another stallion. He halts in the shade of the trees, the leaves dance above his head. A soft breeze travels the length of his spine, it cools the smoldering fire beneath his hide. Björn promises that he will return to Tinuvel, but for now he will bide his time.

Crystal blue eyes sweep the trees before him, in the distance there is a flash that draws his complete attention. A sharp inhale, brings the scent of the woman into his flaring nostrils. She was a stunning creature, her colors sharply constrast each other. He takes a step through the trees. The thick bushes scratch across his legs, he ignores them as they tug at him.

He pushes through the last of the bushes into the daylight. Fresh crimson blood trickles down his dark legs where the thorns had torn his tender flesh. Björn closes the distance between them, his strides confident. His crystal blue eyes drink up every curve of her body. She was delicately put together, from the fine bone of her legs to the curves of hips. A contrast to his muscled shoulders and thickly built, feathered legs. He opens his maw to speak, his voice thick with his northern accent. "Enjoying the warmth on this day?" His voice gruff, it has been some time since he has used his voice on a regular basis.

He eyes her. How would she respond to the war ridden stallion? Scars mar his grulla coat. His thick forelock cloaks the three scars that blemish his nose. Would she be afraid of him? Would she avoid his gaze? The uncertainty hangs in the air around them.