Never mind
Turn back time
You'll be fine
I will get left behind
Romulus knew about his sister. He knew what Dexter had done to her, and found it hard to forgive the despicable old mustang for that particular act of cruelty. Romulus cared about few things; mostly Romulus harbored fire towards the world. It wasn’t even that he cared about his blood. He had only known Cerosi as a very young, very annoying spitfire of a filly. But it was his belief that no matter how much you hated them, you didn’t fuck with your blood.
He had thought the pale-maned stallion could not get any worse. And yet, here they were, traveling to Romulus’s birthplace, where Cerosi was rumored to have gone after her escape. Nothing he said could change Dexter’s mind, and in the end Romulus was left fuming on the Crossing while his father stormed off to find Cerosi. He paced the shore where the silver grullo had disappeared into the sea, ears buried in his dark, messy mane. His coat was salt-roughened and itchy, which only irritated him more, but he could think of nothing that would make him feel better. He didn’t even think he
wanted to feel better. Eventually, Romulus abandoned the beach with a low snort, kicking up sand as he took off, hoping to run his frustrations into the ground.
It did help, a bit. He ended up in the Meadow after exhausting himself, and lowered his storm-grey body to the ground to roll. As he rose, something shiny and fiery caught his eye, and he spun towards the little grouping of trees in which a lovely red mare stood with her neck curved deliciously.
With a growl, Romulus moved toward the trees. He was a mess, but he did not care; his muscles gleamed with sweat, his chest still heaved from his run, and now his mane fell in a tousled curtain down one side of his neck. His hungry blue eyes raked over the amber mare in the dappled light, drinking in the lines of her slender legs and the wonderfully long neck. He was not worthy of her attention just by standing idly by, but that was not his style anyway. Romulus asked for nothing; he took. One of the few lessons for which he could thank his father.
”Trapped in a cage, little bird?” he rumbled to her, gesturing to the trees surrounding her lithe body. He enjoyed the idea of observing her in a cage, but he knew that would only be entertaining for a brief moment. Being the one to set her free was far more fun; he enjoyed the chase more than anything.
