He is patient, as patient as she had come to understand few stallions to be. Not that all were brigands or were the Cain she had not met, but that many hadn’t the thought to spare a mare fancy words and intoxicating flirtations with so little of it within herself. She spoke best body to body, feeding the eye with her intentions rather than the ears. The prettying of herself, the glancing barrels as they walked, the abashed eyes she made to him and then carefully skirted away.
Short of shoving her haunches into his chest and moving aside her tail, she had as good as announced her intentions. She worries that perhaps she is somehow too obtuse, too easily embarrassed and therefore never flirtaticious enough to help him on in his own affections - but he responds with words that lay much of the stammering to rest and replace it with thoughts too large to dare spit out. His temptations are only those of cordial glances, how could she think him capable of heated stares. His temptations are only those of strong build and heavy feathering, how could she think him interested in her barren legs and lean shoulders.
His soft snort stops her from cursing herself again, reassuring words pouring into her ears too quick to remember that she felt so awkward explaining her purpose - bold and shameless in enticing him to a private place that she might have him for herself in the way a mare would want of a proper stallion. The darkness he’d let seep into his eyes had thrilled her when he’d let them, the smiles were far from coy. Though his claims of her mothering and benefit to the herd were flattering - it is the words of his offering a true child of their heat and their bodies that echo sweetest in her ears. Her joy in motherhood was a boon - but it is also, strangely, his greatest flirtation.
His sudden closeness shutters all thought of that, though, all queries racing through her mind that she might ask herself later shuttered up in the billowing warmth he presented in the cool of the cave. Had she flesh bare of hide he might have seen her blush up her ears and down her neck for the very soft voice that comes like a hand gripping through the muscle of her chest and stuttering her heartbeat.
"I can take you right here if that's what you want, Berit. Just say the word." She is almost too taken in by the scent of him, by the warmth of him, by the very poignant presence of him, to speak. Her barrel moves swifter with her breath, her eyes a little wide with his effect on her. "Please," she manages, barely a wisp of a sound over the softness of their breathing and the air rushing into the mouth of the cave from the desert beyond.