Meadow

Like a spider she has set her web, trailing delicate silken threads. The trap she has laid has worked as it always does, and Minthe doesn’t have to wait long before she hears the heavy thud of hoof prints. The scent of a stallion mingled with salt and damp earth wafts towards her in the spaces between the trees, but she continues to scratch at her elbow, pretending she has not noticed his arrival until he has fully entered the clearing. It will not do to look as if she is expecting him; she, with as many options as she knows she has, is not desperate, and he is merely a starter in the multi-course meal of helpless stallions she plans to fully consume until they are no more than bones at her hooves.

Her ears swivel to the side, catching the point at which his steps go quiet, and in a singular fluid motion she draws her narrow head up to its full height. Her brown eyes graze over him, much as she knows he looks at her, and inside herself she recoils a bit in disgust at his raggedy appearance. He looks like he’s been through Hell and back to find her, smoky fur covered in loose dirt and glistening with sweat… but the hard ripples of his muscles peek through the grime, waiting to be revealed, and pull her back in. She wonders how he would shine under the careful machinations of her teeth, and how far he might yet still go to pursue her. When he speaks, the blank expression on her face turns to a cheshire grin.

“That depends,” she answers, her voice like velvet on her lips. Minthe takes a step towards him, then another, glimmering like a jewel under spots of bright sunlight. “Have you come to set me free?”

Her head tilts up, soft eyes looking at him through long dark lashes. Her tail flicks against her side, though now she has stepped close enough to be within touching distance, and the long red threads whip along the bony edge of his gaskin, the scent of her filling the space between them. The heady cocktail of her hormones, combined with his nearness, is enough to send her heart well apace, but she remains calm as her gaze shifts to look with disapproval at the mess of his coat. “You could have cleaned yourself up a bit first,” she mutters, allowing the barest hint of irritation in her tone. Quick as a flash of lightning, though, it melts away, and her form becomes soft and yielding once more. “Come closer, my savior,” she beckons with honeyed words, “so that I may help you to be more presentable.” It is a trick, of course. She may let him near her, may even let him press that mess of a body to hers and ruin her careful self-grooming, but he will not keep her for long. Nobody ever does.