Falls

Minthe feels the heavy mantle of a stranger’s gaze settle across her withers like a cloak, reassuringly familiar. She slots into her role easily, her lowered eyes glancing through long red lashes at the flash of movement in her periphery. Her small ears swivel to catch the voice that follows, deep and sonorous and rich, a single meticulously-measured drop of honey. She keeps her gaze downcast; her reflection peers coyly back from the surface of the water, the corners of her lips pulling back in a subtle smile.

It was like he’d plucked the word straight from her own pretty head.

“Yes,” the minx agrees after a moment, mirroring the level simplicity of his speech. With a surgeon’s precision, she finally lifts her molten chocolate stare from the creek bed, shifting the waves of warmth smoldering therein to drape them fully over the newest man to attempt to occupy her time.

He stands poised along the banks, clearly encouraging her scrutiny, and scrutinize him she does. He was made of pure sunlight, his shimmering golden coat charred with dark dapples and molded like a glove around the catlike muscles innate to their shared desert heritage. Minthe watches the taut cords of his neck bend in salutation, suppressing the shiver that threatens to make its way down her spine despite the thick summer heat. Perhaps even more attractive than the stallion’s appearance - not an easy feat, mind - was the way he carried himself. He took pride in his image, didn’t speak in riddles, and most importantly, he knew his worth. She didn’t have to make him see his own potential or push him towards greatness; she could smell the power on him, the whisper of foreign lands and a successful, well-built life.

Minthe is not a mare to put all of her eggs in one basket, but this stallion was the most promising of all the others she’d seen thus far. The outcome of this first, pivotal meeting would decide for the impatient, flighty ‘Teke if he deserved the rare opportunity of her continued companionship, or if she’d cast him aside like last season’s fashion.

Her smile widens just a hair.

“Lucky for you to be so near to it,” she adds in a voice like plush velvet. Minthe lowers her nose to sweep another smooth arc through the surface of the water, pulling back with a curious cant to her head. Near enough, she thinks, contemplating the distance between them and locking her knees in place, to touch.

“Some would do anything,” she murmurs, barely within earshot, “for the privilege.” It’s a test, a subtle nudge of the ball back into his court as much as a reminder that the ball in and of itself is hers, ultimately, to present to him on a platter or take away as she sees fit. For now, at least, she feels inclined to share… but time will bring the truth of him forward, drag it into the light of the midday sun and either reinforce or change her decision. Being around her seemed to have that effect more often than not, usually with entertaining results.