Meadow

Spring had come upon the land with a fierceness that Switch appreciated, roaring in on tempestuous winds that tousled her heavy locks. There had been some dismay in the winter that her dalliance with the golden stallion had not resulted in a child, but that impulse had been driven deep, deep into her soul, away from the light of day. The last thing the black girl needed was to be nursing a foal all on her lonesome while Fiero was off gallivanting with other mares.

Her dark eyes scanned the open spaces of the Meadow, certain that she would find her lover here. She did not know why this faith was so certain, only that it was. Something pulled her here, away from the land she had known and the comforts that granted, and the only something she could give that much credit to was him.

When at last she can differentiate his striking figure from the forest he stands against, a triumphant strike of her forehoof tears a fresh furrow in the moist soil. With a toss of her head, the little dancer meets him halfway and even lets his caress touch the silk of her cheek before she explodes.

"¡Bastardo! There is a glint to her eyes, a fierce anger that rises in her as all the weeks of pent up emotion gather in a tidal wave. She reaches out with teeth bared, seeking to score the skin of his shoulder, his neck, his chest. Anything that she could reach, size difference be damned. Face excluded of course. He was too pretty to wear those bruises.

Finally she pulls away, her chest heaving with the expenditure of energy and her head held up defiantly. A part of her wants to keep ripping into him, not only out of frustration, but also to feel his skin against hers once more; she wants to bait him into the press of flesh to flesh. As inelegant as it had been, she could still feel him as he haunted her dreams each night. She could no longer blame the pull of the season or count on the scent of her heat to draw him in but she craved his touch as surely as she did a long, cool drink of water. Despite her fury, there was just something about him that kept her from ripping him to shreds. Guapo idiota. ¿Por qué tiene que ser tan bonito?Handsome idiot. Why does he have to be so pretty?

"You left me, cariño.¿Por qué?" Breath huffs from her in exaggerated gasps, her dark eyes fearsome as they lock on his face.

MARE | PASO FINO | BLACK | 14.3 HANDS | HOMELESS | LOVEINSPIRED