Falls

Everything proceeds according to plan. This stallion is so much more shy than she’s used to, more reserved; she can almost feel the anxiety radiating off of him, sweeter and more delicious than new spring grass. Minthe wants to press her tongue to his dark skin and taste the disquiet lingering there like cold sweat, badly so, but she lets him take a step back without following. The fire-red mare graciously allows him to lessen the pressure she has applied with her closeness, carefully pulling the thread taut between them… and is almost immediately rewarded for it as he snaps back towards her, stretching out his muzzle in greeting.

Minthe doesn’t hesitate, extending the slender curve of her neck to meet him. His breath dances hot on her lips, sending a bolt of electricity down her spine. She listens as he speaks, looking up at him through long scarlet lashes, and is about to respond when movement flashes in her peripheral vision. Quickly she straightens, head pointed high towards its source - and irritation immediately churns within her gut.

Standing in front of her is the skinny black ‘Teke from the Meadow, now bedecked with fresh scrapes and bruises. While it gives her such satisfaction to look upon his withered form and see the results of her efforts laid bare, it annoys her even more that he’s here at all, butting in where he’s not wanted. Most stallions Minthe tosses aside don’t get second chances, and of the two men she’d met on these Islands, this isn’t the one she’d want to see again, not by a long shot. It takes a lot of her energy not to leap at him herself, yank his ear like the presumptuous colt that he is and put him in his place - but she refuses to let him put a single mark on her flawless hide, and she knows that if she lets her innocent mask slip she will scare off her newer, fresher prospect and have naught but leftovers.

Time, then, for a new plan.

In an instant, her surprised expression fades to one of terror. She squeals, widening her eyes so that the rims glare stark white, and wheels in the opposite direction of the thin stranger, front legs leaving the ground in a half-rear. The second she is back on all fours Minthe is running, kicking up clumps of frozen dirt and dry grass in her haste to get around and behind the tall, dark stallion. “Please, sir!” she cries to him, her pleading tones pitched up to show her fear. “This strange man accosted me in the Meadow over a week ago. He would have forced himself upon me,” she continues, throwing a quick glare at him over the other’s back, “were it not for a kind stranger distracting him so I could make my escape, but he’s been following me for days, all the way through the forest! Please, don’t let him come near me!” she begs, peering up at him helplessly. Help me, she says with every ounce of her being, fully entrenched in her newfound role as the damsel in distress. Save me, please. I am so afraid.

If this shambling corpse of a man thought he could destroy her, he was wrong. All he did was give her more ammunition, a perfect setup of a situation that would both rid herself of this clinging barnacle and draw out the strength held in the other’s timid limbs. If she can pull this off - and she has no reason to believe she can’t - the high from this will surely last her through until Spring… or at least until the next victim stumbles unwittingly across her path.