Meadow

Rivaini

Rivaini's lungs and heart were in overdrive, working frantically to push blood and oxygen through her nimble body. The silver bay was certain that the former were on fire, and the latter would burst. Pounding, pounding filled her ears; the drumming of her own hooves, the louder beat of Bondurant's heavy steps not far behind her. A heartbeat that might have belonged to either her or the stallion, or perhaps even both of them; their hearts beating in harmony. At one point - shortly before they entered the forest - the reddish mare felt a warm puff of air on her flanks and it sent a fresh jolt of energy to limbs that were beginning to leaden.

The thunder of hooves behind her began to fade, and with it Rivaini's flight slowed. She surrendered to the strange but invigorating combination of exhilaration and exhaustion, narrowly avoiding a collision with a tree as she twisted her body around to face her pursuer. Blowing harshly through her nostrils with each exhale of breath, the smaller mare braced herself for Bondurant's fury. Lips peeled back from blunt teeth subconsciously as the spotted brute towered over her, imposing not only in his size but in the savage spirit that burned in his eyes. A similar fierceness was present in Rivaini, who stepped forward instead of backing down - standing shoulder-to-shoulder now, so close to Bondurant that her skin brushed his. Her pale tail snapped through the air once in warning, and her ears buried themselves in the tangled skeins of her mane.

And then the tension was released by the rumble of the pintaloosa's voice, draining from Rivaini's slighter figure with an almost-imperceptible shudder. "You're the one who made it sounds like there was every reason to hurry, and none to linger. A little run too much for you, old man?" It was unwise to taunt such a strong adversary - akin to stepping on the tail of a sleeping panther. But Rivaini didn't care; she felt so invincible, so alive. Too much of her life had been spent in enforced docility and deference, meekly submitting to the decisions of her elders. A proper mare is obedient. She does not argue or appeal... and she certainly does not run wild as you do, chasing whims and dreams. You must learn your place - you cannot live for yourself and your brother both.

The Andalusian mare shoved the memory aside with all the force that her mind could muster, exercising careful control of her movements as she took one step backward, two. She had to remind herself that Bondurant was not responsible for whatever indignities that she had suffered - had, in fact, tried to help her and found himself repaid with blows and derision. Taking a deep breath of air that caused her body to shudder, the silver bay struggled to soften her voice and her demeanor both. "You weren't thinking of yourself - I could see it in your eyes. I had a brother I cared for as well, even at the expense of myself." Her voice broke on the word brother, wavering for an instant. Iscariot.

Around them, whorls of snow had begun to spin in a beautiful but deadly dance. Rivaini shivered but did not step forward to stand beside her spotted companion - sensing that the decision needed to be his and his alone. Without his aid, it was likely she would have perished in the storm - Bondurant had made the choice to save her. Now he needed to choose to save himself.

mare / five / silver bay tobiano / andalusian mix / 15.3hh