Meadow

She did not catch the effect her posturing had on the dark mare, having focused on Solomon, but she knew well the impact of a meaningful look and some sweet words. It was a large part of how she’d survived over the past few years, after leaving the embrace of her family: wander, find a group - or an individual - that piqued her interest, and turn up the charm until she had them eating out of her metaphorical hands. Her parents had raised her with kindness in mind, and she would never use her charisma with ill intent, simply on principle, but if she also got something out of it - protection, companionship, a warm place to sleep at night - what was the harm? For some, having a glimmering trophy to tout around was enough. Çiçek was happy to oblige.

And oblige she did, indulging Solomon’s every wink and rakish grin with a soft quirk of her lips and knowing eye contact. He made her job simple, being so easy to look at, all thick-corded muscle and bold splashes of white. As he and Faolain discussed the ownership of the Ridge, the palomino found herself glancing at him, thinking of how well he could keep her cold in the winter… and then, as Faolain made her title known, something about the energy between the three of them changed. To Solomon’s credit, he did not outwardly show much - his words still came fairly easily, and fell lightly upon her ears, but for a stallion who had been so interested in the two mares mere minutes before, he sure did seem to be wrapping things up quickly. Çiçek felt the warmth in his voice as he echoed Faolain’s invitation with one of his own, and returned it with a smile and a nod goodbye. When he turned to leave, so did she; her warm eyes cooled, just a bit, and her expression hardened, only for a moment, her long tail snapping against her hindquarters. Why’d he leave so soon? Was she not worthy? Did the presence of a woman in power threaten him so much that he would so easily concede his and Faolain’s good-natured battle of persuasion?

As Çiçek watched his form disappear over the horizon, she underlined her mental note to visit Tinuvel. She would find out for herself, at some point, and discern whether or not he was truly worthy of her special attention. For now, though…

The mare turned back to face Faolain, her ears tipped forward. The warmth returned to her face, and the soft smiles of the minutes before became a rakish grin. “I’ve always preferred warmer climates, anyway,” she quipped, breaking the thick cord of awkward silence left in Solomon’s absence, and laughed at her own words, the high notes tinkling like bells.

“I have spent enough time with these flowers. Faolain,” she asked, sweetness creeping into her voice, “would you be so kind as to escort me to the Ridge? I promise to show you all the pretty flowers on the way, if you will show me the ones there.”