Meadow

Nomius was off again, though she knew he was never far. Off and exploring in that way that near drove his father nuts trying to keep tabs on them. Peaceful and yet unwavering in his spirit, she wondered if Nomius was becoming what Apollo would have become without having ran with the bachelor herd he often spoke of. He was not arrogant, not overconfident, and there was a definite difference that spoke truth in their mutual beliefs regarding the brindling on both their hides. The lack of the streaks and stripes made Cyrene positive he would have only the good of his father.

It was believed that strength abounded in those with stripes in their hides, that in them was as feral and strong a fighter as any predator. It would not be in Nomius, therefore, to claw tooth and nail. Her eye sees the white and pale cream of him glint over the meadow often. It reminds her that the browning grasses meant his father would return to her -- own his place atop her or lose it until he could do so in the next year.

She had only been too lucky that the stallion that had won her sparring fight hadn’t bid her pay up for her loss and lose Apollo his chance at her womb. He would have been furious, she thinks.

Just as if summoned on cue, there is a thud, thud, thud of hooves to her left and she turns to look on the white-helmed stallion on approach. "Your son is grown by a year and you have not lost your right to claim me for your own this season." It is distinct that she does not feel as though he had won his right, either, but she looks uninclined to lash out at him and therefore might be receptive a second season in a row. "Though," she says with a gleam in her blue eyes as she glares out of the corner at him, "now that I smell another has been beneath you before me… perhaps you will fight me for it instead!"