Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
| i’m on fire, again | |
| He does not introduce himself in return. Rhadra resigns herself to silence, at least until they meet the others, and as they move it becomes once again a comfortable lack of conversation between them. His urgency, though not frantic, is clear, and she matches his pace as anticipation uncurls more freely within her belly. Rhadra pays attention to the small sounds his body makes as he moves: the chuffs of a particularly powerful exhale, or the nuanced expulsions of air that are more than just breathing but a little less than speech, and under it all the solid thud of his steady hooves on the hard, packed dirt. This is to be her band stallion then. He is handsome, Rhadra thinks as her eyes flicker over his face, following the blaze from his soft, dark lips up past his eyes. Her gaze meets his momentarily before, shyly, she looks away.
He leads them deeper into the trees, and she must admit the silence he maintains on their short journey intrigues her. He makes no attempt to convince her of the beauty of the land they’re traveling to or reassure her that she’ll fit in well with the herd, but instead carries himself with the confidence of a man who knows he has earned the woman at his side and has no need to endear her to him further, for she is his regardless of what awaits them. So it is that the stallion’s abrupt detour to an innocuous stand of evergreens is a bit bewildering, but she follows him gamely. For all that he hasn’t said, his actions have been deliberate and communicative. Rhadra trusts him. She pauses beside the stallion as he holds aside the scented bough, deliberately flirtatious as she touches her nose to his shoulder, lips parting to drag her teeth gently against his hide before she withdraws, her eyes flickering up again to his before she passes under the pine and into the hollow. It is there, overwhelmed by the heavy musk of the stallion’s scent, that she finally understands. There is no herd. There is evidence only of a single horse, him, residing in this little pocket of greenery alone in a neutral territory. He has no land. There is no band of mares under his watchful eye who await the arrival of his next addition to their community. She entertains the thought, briefly, that he intends to begin a herd with her. But Rhadra is no real candidate for lead mare. She can produce no children and while she may be wise to the ways of the world and herd life she frequently evades responsibility, preferring to spend time her own way apart from a herd. She cannot be lead mare to his lead stallion, even less so if there is no herd to lead. Her heart fractures a little more, the muscle trembling as its cracked foundation absorbs another blow. The stallion’s warmth rolls over her moments before his breath draws a shiver from her skin. Worse than her disappointment is this evidence of his extended solitude: how long has he kept home here in this verdant, quiet grove with no one but himself for company? Rhadra can hardly stand roaming on her own, knowing each horse she meets will eventually part ways with her and she will be untethered once again, little more than a leaf skittering across the land, blown about by the wind and able to call no place home, no herd her family. Is such a life enough for him? Can it be enough for anyone? She leans into his touch, turning her head to respond in kind as she tucks her nose up under the shelter of his mane, eyes closed tight against unshed tears as she breathes him in. Warm, masculine. Rich as newly turned earth after the rain, and lingering likewise on her skin. Her heart weeps for her stallion. But she will allow no sorrow into this haven of his, and Rhadra quenches her grief to bring him joy. She takes as much solace from his touch as she gives, healing the tiny fissures in her chest with each caress shared between them, for in this private pocket of time she is his mare, his herd, his community, and as the starry sky turns above them toward dawn he is her herd, her community, her stallion, and he is enough. “Enough,” she whispers into the hollow of his throat, sleepy and sated and whole. Would that they could stay this way forever. She pulls away from him slowly, separating the heat of their bodies carefully so as not to jostle him into wakefulness, and treads softly to the entrance of his sanctuary. Rhadra looks back, noting the angle of his ears and the cant of his head, listening hard to the hushed bellows of his breathing, tracing the fall of his forelock over his face and her eyes flutter closed as she draws in a deep breath and holds it, as if she can carry the scent of him within her lungs forever, so that every exhale brings her the memory of this night so that she may never be lonely again— and she hopes, deeply, that the same will be true for him as she slips out of the hollow and into the hazy dawn. | |
Rhadra | |