Her love of motherhood was resounding and unquestionable, but there was a rarely-seen part of her that knew herself to be ‘woman’ as much as ‘mother’. Rarely seen because she rarely believed it. She wasn’t some pretty little thing that danced to please the eye of her lord. She wasn’t lithe, nor spirited. She wasn’t some great creature either, looking stout and firm enough to bear up any man that’d come to her for relief of the season. She is shy, she is plain, she is forgettable in her eyes.
He is very forward in that respect, plain speaking and offering honest appeal to her rather than the poetry that might have fooled her rather than wooed her. She is as simple hearted as she is plain featured. She likes to know her place in the world and to know the place she holds with him has plagued her night and day - always seeking a glimpse of him on some horizon or ridge. Her heritage of North Swedish horse was beguiling. She is draft enough blooded, but women of her kind were not built the way her son would soon show their breed to be. Huge, thick, a mane that could flow in waves for days, feathers to brush the ground he walked.
Her body responds to his with ease, for all that he has enraptured her too tightly to what he says for her to realize the embarrassing level of overt interest she has exuded. The air is hotter for his nearer breath and radiant warmth. She does this to him, though she will only think of it later, and later it will soothe her worries that he might have only claimed her for her own sake and not his own. When she does finally whisper that plea, he is not long in finding the proof of her wanting and takes little time in fulfilling their mutual need.
His weight gone from her leaves an ache, though it is of a different sort than she thought. They share a brightness in their gaze, his body reminded of it’s four-legged motion far more quickly than she thinks she might have the ability for. His muzzle along her size softens the eagerness of her expression, rolling a thickened alto nicker up from her chest to reassure the once-over he performed. "Stay with me," she asks him, for once unabashed in her desires or making them better known. "Stay with me and let Akello tend the boys for the night." There is a warmth of remembrance in her tone, a little nugget of realization that she was indeed woman and he was more than enough man to sate her.
"Perhaps I am selfish, or heat-drunk, or so starved of attention that I would leech your energy completely out of you…" she eyes him from out of the corner of one of hers, "But give me a night to remember I am as much a mare as I am a mother." She does not know the herd as she ought to before asking him for this. She is not aware of the hierarchy and much of her says, in the rush of coupling, that she doesn’t care. He lights a fire in her that she hadn’t known needed stoking. She side steps against him, ears flicked back neutrally to listen for whatever relief he might offer - be it in denial or agreement. .