In truth she counted herself grateful to the fates that mother warned her of over and over again. While Harlequin might have viewed their decisions fickle and to be met with wary apprehension, Twinge felt relief. It was the fates that brought Bacardi to the shores of the commons that day when the old foolish vagabond came upon them with fantasies that no doubt would have left sour impressions on her new and fresh heart. It was the fates that brought her across the seas from Salem to the cold ice and snow of Tinuvel where time and again Harlequin used to regale her with stories of her own childhood here. The Bay. The birthplace of Harlequin and the resting place of Soljor’s bones no doubt long since decayed and returned to frozen earth. It was funny how things often came full circle wasn’t it?

And he was a fine specimen indeed. Why she shied at the idea of procreation, Twinge did not quite understand. The same fires that fueled other mares with hungry eyes burned into her own and left her desperate for a thirst that she had not yet managed to quench. Only fire soothed her rage, a fire that left her kicking her heels at invisible foes and challenging any who dared to meet her gaze to a burst of endurance or an elegant dance across the heathers. Only none of them ever satisfied her, not in the way Bacardi did. His fierce golden yellow eyes meet her own, staring back at her with the same spirit and determination that left her gasping for breath and yet unable to drink it deep enough. Even as she lunged away from him, she can not help but to angle her head back to catch a glimpse of his handsome form as he lifted onto his hind legs and raked at the sky. His scream echoes against the mountainscape that surrounds them, stirring the slumbering birds from their roosts high up in the treetops and causing a joy filled laughter to sing past her own in reply. Slender hips swing towards the heavens as she plants her forelegs deep into the rich black soil and lashes her heels out as though she might send the squawking ravens a taste of her fury.

Through her peripheral vision, she catches him charging towards her, determination in his eyes as his muscular legs pound the earth, ripping free chunks of debri to litter the trail behind him. Energy thrums through her veins, heating her skin despite the cold chill that always tugged at the crisp air. She stretches out as he comes alongside her, patches of sweat dampening her body and causing her nostrils to flare in exertion. A race. A race he wanted then a race he would have. And yet even when he no doubt could lengthen his stride to surpass her smaller, slimmer figure, Bacardi does not. Instead, he pushes on, each stride brushing his shoulder and hip against her own until only a breath of air separated them both. Elation filled her. A joy that Twinge never thought possible surges through her body and only part of it revolved around the yellow-eyed stallion at her side. Small fluted ears tilt forward amid the tangled coils of her forelock, catching the graveled growl of his voice with a fluttering heart.

He saw her. He really saw her.

Mother raised her against such beliefs as undying love and devotion to another and yet Cain held Harlequin’s allegiance. Likewise, in that moment, Twinge felt herself drawn towards the massive stallion in a way that was far more feral and innate than something that can be described as fickle feelings. He stretches towards, and she leaps forward, taking the lead as his teeth rake down the coiled curve of her neck. Like a viper she turns into him, arching her own neck to bring her small dished muzzle to the concave of his broad chocolate chest. Yearning burns in her body, every hair and muscle on fire and unquenchable. ”Yes…” she growls, slowing her pace to match his own, slowing to press her slender figure against his own. She did not care where. She did not care for how long. She only cared that Bacardi wanted to go and wanted her with him. What came next was up to the fates and by the gods she was ready.