Meadow

The twist of her muscles felt good. Exhilarating.

Pleasurable.

She had a body that was made for war. Raised under the strict hand of her mother, she had been moulded into the lean, twisted up mess of muscles that was best used for war. Blood pumps in her ears and her teeth gnash at smooth, scarred flesh, and she enjoys it.

The little screams of the strangers fall on deaf ears, and she barks a strangled cry into the skin of the dark woman, feeling a pleasure that rises in her blood. It bubbles and it makes her want to do it again. Somewhere outside of the roaring waves of her adrenaline the two mares have scooted aside, speaking bitterly amongst themselves and all but cowering away from the bliss that was in the violence between her the shadowed mare.

Yazheen doesn’t care- for the taste of blood was more than enough to wash away the rage of her failure and her loss.

Somewhere beneath her legs are scrambling, lashing out, and a hoof strikes up against her breast. It almost winds her, the blunt force of this stranger- so willing to comply in her challenge. “Again!” Yazheen belts out into the air, feeling the second hoof strike her in the same spot as she presses forwards, once more her teeth seeking flesh, this time atop her opponent’s head.

Whether she felt the blissful pinch of skin between her teeth or not, she can only think to twist away from the woman, giving her a good space before staring dark eyed at the other two, a maniacal grin upon her lips. “You were made weak by the propositions of men.” A lash of the tail, and she waits for the impact from the other woman to interrupt her. “There should be more honor in your blood.” With that, she waits for another strike.

And she relishes the thought.