Meadow

There had been a fight in her, a fight that was undesired by the lagoon and their cronies. The palomino hadn’t even given her a name before they had scuffled and fought and he had rushed her off into the muddy paradise of the lagoon.

It would have been a nice vacation from her home, had it not been overflowing with children that had only just discovered that their balls had dropped.

The painted mare is wary of her- within reason. She is painted in mud and blood and looks more like a huntress that had struggled for her life in the din of battle than a woman that men would fawn over. It seemed these lands were ripe with petite little things that were more interested in mothering children and gazing starry eyed up at their suitors.

What a disgrace.

Yazheen does not fault her for her caution, but her words make the rabicano smile a cheshire grin. It tugs at her dark lips and it shapes her face. Perhaps this is the first smile she has worn in many months or years. “There is no shortage of trash in the lagoon, I’m sure.” She did not know a soul that had remained in the lagoon, as the boys had lost their grip and were being shuffled off in a tidy single file line to some far away mountain.

“Yazheen. I’m sorry I missed you earlier.” Happily, there was a comfort to be found in another woman unafraid of spilling blood. Where her wars were waged over water and food, striking down those that hoped to starve out the competition, this land fought a battle of man and woman- and she was tired of watching the women go cowed.