Meadow

Solomon

The storm was slow to break over the Crossing, and Solomon watched the sheets of rain as they moved like curtains across the open field of the meadow. As fitful as a mare's moods in heat, the storm broke and gathered, leaving trails of sunlight that passed slowly over the rain-drenched land. He watched it from his small place among the trees, where the water dripped slowly down red-gold leaves long after the rain had finished falling.

In truth, Solomon had no good reason for being here.

His herd was large, and growing quickly. As much as he would like to say that he kept his focus on his home, he knew that he had spent just as much time this season on the crossing as he normally did. And yet still, here he was again.

There was something about the unknown quality that a trip here held. Would he come across a beauty like Harmonica that would accept his weight across her back and his claim in one meeting? Or would he encounter another Talisa to tear into him with her fierceness? Perhaps even a stallion, with whom he might speak regarding the open Regent spot in his home.

The latter was objectively the least likely. As much as Solomon recognized the need for such a thing, the thought of passing up an eligible female in favor of a stallion to take home was bitter.

A flash of blue in his peripheral vision drew his eye to the lean mare that walked in the wake of the storm. She cut a striking figure against the sun-bleached fall grass and the golden rays of the late afternoon sun that peaked through the grey storm clouds. He couldn't help but stare, drawn to the way she moved and the presence she carried within herself. How easy it would be to imagine such a beauty among the tall pines of his home, those same black stockinged legs offset against the icy tones of winter.

He wanted her.

After a moment, he broke from this staring to nicker to her, his own dark-rimmed ears pricking forward as he broke into a jog. Solomon's figure lacks the lean purpose of speed that her's was built for. The muddied breeding of his heritage has left him with a lean carriage, hardened into solid muscle from near-constant travel. Still, he is a proud creature, and the lean stretch of his neck curls into an arch as he approaches, his forest green eyes alight with the excitement that accompanies any interaction with a beautiful mare.

As he slows, his muzzle extends toward her in greeting, already eager to touch even the softest edge of her muzzle. "It was worth it to weather that storm."

"To get to see you afterward." He grins as he withdraws, a confident grin already forming on his lips. He inclines his head briefly, although he does not take his eyes off of her. "I'm Solomon, of the Cove."

The lean tobiano settles comfortably a short distance away. As much as he would like to taste of her skin and explore the fire within her, he does not want to come on too strongly. He'd already allowed his composure to slip once this season, and while he did not regret what had passed between himself and Wren, he knew it would be something they would have to hurdle in the coming months. She wasn't likely to trust him any time soon.

And he certainly didn't want this mare to be afraid of him.

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove