bacardi
Bacardi isn’t sure what he expected from the young mare. For her to be excited to see another her age? Or to be shy, and barely answer him? He supposed she could even be angry with him for interrupting her grazing, and any thoughts she may be having. Rather, she offers a gentle smile and her reply causes a small smile to tug at his own dark lips. Worry wasn’t becoming on his youthful face, but he wasn’t sure how to change it.
“My name is Bacardi,” he replied. “I’m from the Peak,” the painted colt added, his black rimmed ears pushing forward as a curious express softened the lines upon his face. “Where are you from?” Surely she was not from the Lagoon as well? Like the other filly he had met in the Falls. He was always warned to stay away from that place, but it couldn’t be too bad if it produced fillies like this? Bacardi realized he was quickly getting ahead of himself; his imagination and assumptions taking him well ahead of this conversation. He quickly reigned it back in, his full focus settling on the filly again.
Her face was gentle, he realized, and the tan pretty. Her two-toned forelock was interesting and Bacardi felt a need to play with it. To see where each different colored strand came from. The filly was sturdier than the Peak residence he had met, but he would never say she was bulky. Heat suddenly flared across his face and he glanced away, hoping he had not stared too long. Great, she would think he was a creep! Bacardi had never felt this way around another before. Growing up around women, he was more awkward around men. Was this how grown stallions felt around a pretty mare? He didn’t even have one to ask.
male - mutt - 14.3(wfg) - yearling - Ee Aa Ff nT
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