Falls

He left the Cove shortly after his father did. He didn’t follow Dexter, or even care much to find out where he went. The old man was too unpredictable and volatile for Romulus to chase around forever. On these islands, he would probably survive, and that was good enough for the grullo mustang.

The seasons shifted as Romulus wandered, and soon the Crossing is sunny and warm again. He strolls lazily through the Meadow, enjoying the sun on his pewter coat when the sound of a viciously angry voice reaches him and pulls him out of his pleasant daze. Alarmed, he picks up a trot and crosses over to the Falls to follow the sound. He halts his heavy frame when he sees the mare, tucked away in the shadows in an obvious attempt to hide herself. He does not approach further, and instead only watches silently. He bows his head to graze and keeps one eye on the new mother as she suffers her contractions, and the other watchful for strangers. If Romulus heard her from all the way across the Meadow, it is certainly possible that others have heard as well. He is not particularly interested in the mare, but leaving her for a more malicious individual to find just doesn’t sit right with him. So he stands, and watches, until the painted mare is finished.

He nearly walks away when he hears the pained little yelps of the newborn. Whipping around, Romulus stalks forward, watching as the mother roughly cleans up her young. Irritation sparks in his chest; he has no children of his own, but has never found reason to quarrel with a defenseless infant. The child is seconds old; what could it have possibly done to anger its mother?

”Hey,” he quips as he draws near, stopping a healthy distance away. ”I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t take it out on the kid.” He falls silent, frustrated with himself for actually speaking out. What business does he have approaching a mother with her own child? He curses himself internally, sizing up the mare as she begrudgingly lets the filly nurse, appearing to try and convince herself that the child does not exist. She is beautiful despite the seething anger that rolls from her mahogany fur, but if Romulus is honest with himself, he likes the spicy ones better, anyway. He snorts quietly and adds, as though to soften his harsh words a second ago, ”If it’s the sire who’s got you so wound up, I’d be happy to teach him a lesson.” It is partially a joke, but no smile accompanies the words and Romulus would not turn down such a request should one be made of him.

Romulus