The bay stallion is an enigma to her. Each move he makes seems crafted to throw her off balance, even though she can detect no such scheming in his face. She expects him to reflect her coolness, to respond to it as everyone else did, with equal distance. Instead, the handsome stallion moves closer to her.

She watches from the corner of her eye as he reaches to pull at the few tendrils of mane that were not ravaged by scars, tugging at them lightly as one might when coaxing a recalcitrant lover. Sidika breath stills for a moment, but she attempts to hide the rest of her surprise even as her stomach leaps uncertainly at his touch. Somehow having him close to her put her on edge, as though everything she'd learned about any male ever had been upended in a single moment. It was not the touch itself, per se. After all, she'd complained of Solomon being unable to keep his muzzle to himself only a few moments ago. Rather, it had something to do with the fact that it didn't feel like he was trying to get something from her. She'd already come here compliantly, agreed to heal for him, and explained herself. Nor could she blame the season of foal making for encouraging him to be forward.

It was almost as though he'd simply wanted to touch her.

Sidika had managed to get through her story, although her mind had spun through the entire telling. He, too, seemed distracted, although she did not know the cause. His touch only lifted when she turned to drink, her story finished and her skin twitched in conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted him to step closer, so that she might explore the idle flirtation that other mares were so adept at, and yet part of her was glad it was gone. She certainly breathed easier without the gentle weight of his muzzle against her skin.

He responds evenly to her words, and her eyes narrow infinitesimally as she studies him. They are pretty words, no matter how dispassionately delivered and she wonders if he truly means them. It would be easy to test, she thinks defiantly, with fall so close on the horizon and other herds that pressed close, but in truth, she did not have the heart to be so petty. Such behavior is for young, immature fillies and she has not been one of those for many moons now.

For a long bit, she only studies him wordlessly, her breathing slowly steadying to it's earlier calm pace. The calm lasts only a moment, however, as he steps toward her and it catches subtly again. "What pleases you?"

After a brief hesitation, she steps forward to reach out for the dark strands of his mane where they drape across his muscled shoulder, plying her lips across his skin to toy with the ends. Inwardly, she tries not to marvel at the novelty of it. Of simply touching someone for touching's sake, not to gain something or mend something. Perhaps this was why fall so consumed the other members of her past herds.