Meadow

He might have noticed the revulsion in the fiery mare’s eyes if he had been looking for it, but his own gaze was wandering elsewhere as she appraised him. It swept over the gleaming lines of her body, watching the muscles of her neck slide beneath the delicate skin as she looked up to acknowledge him. His gaze was appreciative, and more than a little hungry, but Romulus had never struggled with self control. At the sound of her melodic voice, the grullo’s eyes slipped to her face and came to rest on her own honey-sweet gaze. ”I don’t fancy trapped creatures,” he purred. ”I prefer space to run and play.” His lips curled upward in a stoic smile. Slowly, with the grace of a big cat (such a grace that had not been present moments ago when he was rolling in the grass) he took another few steps into her clearing. He knew it was a trap; mares like this didn’t gift-wrap themselves for the male gaze without hiding hungry jaws beneath the shiny packaging.

But he didn’t care. Romulus could have given a damn for the loyalty of others, but he could not bring himself to spare the trouble. The world did not owe him shit, and he did not owe shit in return. Instead of caution, the muscular stallion welcomed her invitation with a wolfish grin, sliding the rest of the way into the small clearing and curling his lean body around the red mare so that she may groom or strike out at him as she pleased. ”You caught me at a bad time,” he cooed in his defense. He silently thanked his consistent habits of grooming for at least not allowing an offensive scent to build up on his fur as he stood so close to the intoxicating mare; he looked rough, but he smelled only of sea salt and fresh earth.

As Romulus stood in the clearing, seeming to take up too much space with his tall frame, he realized he felt eyes on him. His dark-rimmed ears perked up, and then flattened as he spotted a shape some distance away in the trees. He moved to put his body between the stranger and the red mare, a sneer pulling his handsome face into a sharp grimace. The gesture may have seemed protective, but in reality it was selfish. Why would a stranger be watching them from the shadows if not to enjoy Minthe’s enticing beauty? And why should Romulus let them have the satisfaction, when she had only invited him into her space? Of course, it was possible the stranger had darker intentions, but Romulus had inherited some of Dexter’s madness. He did not fear other horses; he did not fear killing them if he needed to, and he did not fear death at their hooves.

But he did not think this stranger would attack. They were too far away, and already Romulus’s attention had swept back to the sunset mare in his grasp, for however long she allowed herself to be there. ”Seems we have an admirer,” he chuckled darkly, knowing full well no one was coming to admire him. His neck curled back to her withers, and his lips found her mane and tousled it playfully. He knew he would probably be punished for such an action, but he could not help himself; she was a little too perfect, and he wanted to be the one to rattle her just a bit.

Romulus