Warsaw’s eyes scanned over the young man’s body. Zharko knew he was being evaluated, judged, and measured. He tried not to, but he knew in these moments he tried to hold his head a little higher, hold his poise a little stronger, and hold his breath a little longer. While Warsaw looked him over again, his own dark eyes studied the scar spangled stallion. Each twisted wound told the story of something and showed the stallion was able to survive it. The fresh scars proved his prowess even more. It was clear Warsaw was past his youth, and still could defend himself and his family against an attack of wolves. Zharko’s mind shifted with these thoughts, and he exhaled slowly as his mind was slowly made up.

Warsaw’s words cemented his status and he nodded with understanding. He was still young and untried. For all Warsaw really knew, Zharko had only ever done one good deed in his life. Still, the young stallion was honored by the trust and the position. As Warsaw described further what his place in the herd would be, Zharko’s eyes widened in surprise. He had not thought he would be able to have his own herd, merely be part of Warsaw’s. He did not have time to question this before the stallion called for Claymore.

As the mare came racing to them, he did not want to admit how pleased he was to see her. The time she had been in the Cove he had muddled over his concern about her. He would not admit to the possible jealousy he would have felt if another had come to claim her attention, or if he would have had to fight for her in turn. She pressed her face against his chest, her tears dampening his fur. Awkward in front of her father, and now his king, Zharko touched the tip of his nose to her shoulder, gently brushing her flesh with his lips. She was his first, and he would honor that though she had been ‘given’ to him. She would still forever be his first.

Thank you. He replied seriously to Warsaw before he let his chin rest more against Claymore’s neck.