Braemar’s smile widens when the filly agrees to his suggestion. “Good lass,” he begins, but then he is lost for words, for a part of him had expected her to tell him to get lost. Now he looks out over the expanse of meadow before them, the cogs in his brain working to produce some sort of idea that she wouldn’t immediately shoot down. He sees a few small groups of horses scattered about, but they’re all adults: nobody suitable. He looks out to the line on the horizon where the sky meets the sea, and briefly considers taking her for a swim, but decides no, it’s far too cold for that.
Finally Braemar looks back at the filly with a thoughtful expression, his head tilted. “Let’s go forae walk, then, an’ see what we run into, eh?” Braemar leads the way, taking the filly along the line of trees that hug the meadow, doing his best to avoid the strangers that might disapprove of a strange stallion leading a young girl away. Once he finds a suitable trail, he ducks into the trees, hooves crunching on the carpet of fallen leaves. “So what kinnae boys you like, then? Or girls - no judgement here.”
4; highland pony; dapple gray; 14.0hh |
