Meadow

Hearing his voice was a rarity she had not been given very often, and it causes a gasp to escape her lips with shock when she hears it behind her. Spinning around, her eyes rest upon the red colt she had not thought to see again. When she had fled the Ridge in much the same way she had the Badlands, she did not expect him to come looking anymore than her mother had. Kimber should have known better, should have known Askold better. Briefly her ears flick back in uncertainty, wondering if he would greet her with anger or happiness at finding her.


“Askold.” She said softly as her eyes drifted over the changing lines of his face. He was growing much as she was, turning into a young stallion. But age would not make the grooves upon his face that he carried, something else entirely had done that. Something had been wrong, had been bothering him, but the painted girl was not vain enough to think it worry for her that had caused them.


Slowly she steps towards him, finding now that he was no longer the taller one of the pair, but that they were close to the same height. Extending her soft whiskered nose, she drinks in his breath and offers hers in exchange as she was still unsure of how he felt towards her. “What is wrong?” She whispered, her eyes meeting his and finding such turmoil there.