Meadow

Solomon

Solomon found himself admiring the strong bow of her neck and the way her powerful build arched gracefully toward him as he approached. She was not as flashy as some of the mares that he had collected in the past, but in this she had her own beauty. This stranger did not need the bright patterns or unique markings to garner his attention; she did it simply by existing.

Despite the season, she softens toward him. Her laughter earned a grin from him, and he stepped closer as she relaxed amidst the swirl of brittle fall leaves. He half takes her for a witch, with his calm composure and the way the hues of fall wrap around her in the midst of the leaves. Hungrily he watches her mane lift in the breeze, and wonders what it might be like if he were the one to cause it. The red mare doesn't leave him waiting for long, and almost immediately offers her name. It is unique, and it fits the fiery red of her coat well.

Even more promising, she responds to his joke with a rejoinder of her own and his gaze brightens with deepened interest. With a bob of his aristocratic head he chuckles in response, "please do. It's like coming across fire made into flesh. I can't stop staring."

And it was true. His eyes lingered on her even when she wasn't looking his way, and when he thought he could get away with it, his gaze would trace along the proud bow of her neck to where it gave way to the sensual slope of her shoulder. Both ears orient to her as she mentions that she was new, and he grins. Solomon could have picked her out as a new arrival, if only because she seemed less worried about her location than most did. Granted, it was not the Commons and he could not force a claim of her, but Solomon was certain that a fair amount of other things had been forced among the wide slopes of the Meadow.

"Yes and no," he starts with a smile. "I came here from a distant territory, but I've made it my home. I got here over a year ago and stumbled across the Cove, and haven't looked back since."

In truth, Solomon had spent nearly a month alone on the crossing isle before he'd moved into the Cove. But he was a stallion, and she was not. The idea of a mare willingly living alone and unguarded on the crossing, especially during fall, repulsed him at the amount of risk it entailed. Absently his mind flicked back to the reddish mare Ylva, but he forced himself to focus on the present. Helle deserved his attention now, and he was more than happy to give it to her.

"This is the Crossing Isle, where mares come to be claimed into a herd." With a small laugh he interjected, "like mine."

Gesturing toward the far end of the land, toward where Salem lay and beyond he spoke again. "At the far edge down there is the Lagoon, where bachelor stallions live, and beyond is Salem, the desert isle."

Carefully he eyes her as though gauging how willing she would be to tolerate his touch. Opting to risk it, he shifts his weight so that the two of them stand side by side and stretches his neck out so that he can press her gently toward the angle of Atlantis. Breathing softly, ever so conscious of the slightest brush of her skin, he continues. "Atlantis is that way. The Jungle isle and arguably the second most pretty island, but far too hot."

He smiles and shifts again, angling them toward the third isle. "Luthien is that way, the land of thick trees." A soft chuckle precedes his next words as he points them toward the Peak, and Tinuvel beyond. "And just up here, past the Vulcan Peak of warrior women, is Tinuvel, the most beautiful island of them all, if I do say so myself." Solomon withdraws to give her space, but his gaze is keen. "And on Tinuvel is my home, where I hope you'll join me, when we're done here."

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