Falls

His ears flicker in delight at the stallion’s unexpected accent, and Kendry’s grin grows. “How about that,” he says, noting the spotted stallion’s casual stretch, each roll and flex of the muscles meant as a warm-up and rebuttal to Kendry’s posturing. The perlino has been bounding around for the better part of an hour and is limber, primed, but in no real rush. “Grandfather feels lively enough for a lesson. How lucky for me,” he snorts, amused, and lobs a friendly taunt: “Think you’ve still got some spring left in you, or has Old Man Winter settled in those bones for good?”

He’s missed this. He and Psych used to tussle, some, back in the day, though as he recalls they bickered and slung insults more than they resorted to bites and kicks. The spars he’s engaged in more recently have been friendly enough, though often against the fairer sex, and though his position as second in the Thicket has been made (more or less) concrete Kendry finds himself surprisingly restless. Is this a reflection of what settling down in a territory will do to him?

Kendry paws the snow again, drawing a wide furrow as his thick tail snaps against one flank. “Come on then,” he says, baiting the other, probing to see what it takes to draw the spotted stallion into action. Kendry’s words are light, his expression mild, but his attention is on each flicker of movement rolling under that bay and cream coat. He stamps, then holds himself poised, anticipating a forward rush and ready to rise in a half-rear to meet it.