Meadow

This is all so easy. Minthe isn’t even all the way to the tree line before the peeping tom makes himself known. She has time to size him up, and she does, eyeing the slender panes of his body, so like hers, and the silhouettes of bones that poke up beneath his dull coat. Her eyes narrow. Suddenly, this stranger doesn’t seem as attractive of an option as the one she’s left behind - but then he paws at the ground, his low voice ringing out with a challenge, and something inside her perks. Intriguing that someone with such an obvious lack of physical strength would dare to court the ire of the muscled brute of a stallion bearing down on them. She didn’t know either of them, but even she could see they were outmatched. Anyone with eyes could see that.

A thrill of anticipation shot down Minthe’s spine. This was not going to end well.

She looks back, then. Satisfaction curls her lips into a grin as she sees the grullo close behind, as she knew he’d be, but when she notices the way he snakes his head low, her ears flatten against her poll and she leaps out of his path, swinging her hips in a wide arc away from him. She will not be herded into the shadows like some meek little doe. As he comes close, Minthe reaches to snap her teeth at his skin - and, just as he had in the trees with her mere moments ago, finds empty air where his body ought to be. He passes her entirely, almost as if she wasn’t there at all. Rage at being jilted flares hot within her, lashing at her heels… but then, as he collides with the skinny black stallion and the two of them come to blows, she comes back around.

This carnage, these flying hooves and bared teeth and scrapes and scratches and bruises, are all of her own orchestration. It was Minthe that caught both of their attention, Minthe that tied them together with shimmering red silk string. Without Minthe, neither of them would even be here, let alone fighting each other. The power of it, of her influence on these stupid, emotionally-powered hormone-driven stallions, gives her a high that no man’s touch ever could. The headiness of it sends her reeling. The chestnut stands idly by, her fine-featured head tucked close to her chest, eyes glittering. The devilish smirk upon her freckled lips widens with every strike.

“No,” she mutters sarcastically under her breath. “Stop. Please. Don’t.” If she had known the satisfaction of watching two stallions shed blood over her was so much greater than raising the ire of one, she would have done it sooner.

In fact, she can only think of one thing better.

Minthe doesn’t wait to see the end of their little reindeer games. The Akhal-Teke edges closer to the trees, quiet compared to the squealing and scuffling of the two stallions, and before she can see the end result of all the chaos, her slender body has disappeared into the shadows of the forest. The only evidence left that she was ever there at all is the high ring of her laugh on the wind, made robust by visions of the victor spinning around, battered and worse for wear, to find his prize long gone.