Meadow

A wallflower indeed she is not. The past which she has abandoned held memories that consisted of years worth of her assertive leadership behaviors. She has not known bone-weary sadness of which he ponders. Though she is no stranger to adverse times and horrid occurrences, she has never been one to languish in the wake. But if the brindled stallion wants a shred of similarity, she will not fault him for such. Already she is tiring of playing the coy little mare. She misses her reign, her power, and the trail of desolation often left behind her dainty hooves. She breathes in softly, reminding herself that these new lands bring with them the promise of new beginnings. There is always time to rise to great heights once more.

His words of battle cause the small hairs along her spine to tingle with excitement. How long has it been? The memories of battles one are fresh within her mind and she aches for want of another tussle. His next words command her from her enchanting reverie. If her already dark eyes were not already all but consumed by the night, he may have seen the briefest of storm clouds begin to fester within at the detailing of his actions. She banishes the unspoken judgement with haste. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown." Her words are almost taunting but the understanding within them is almost enough to allude to her past life. She would find herself the hypocrite if she passed judgement over actions she would have committed herself without a second thought. Maybe we are the worst monsters within this meadow.

She would have been overjoyed if he had regaled her with tales of bloodshed and murderous intentions - rather fulfilled or otherwise - for hours upon end. Though she is wrapped up into an enticing package, she would have been far better suited if she had been born a male. Yet the power of a woman is mighty, especially when underestimated. His question is met with a dainty laugh of amusement. "Trying to figure me out?" She returns the question with one of her own and a devilish wink of one eye. "You would be surprised by how depraved even a woman can be." She has spoken a piece of her own truth out into the night and immediately finds herself wishing to pluck her words back from the chilly air. Instead, she chooses deflection as possibly camouflage for her blunder. "Will you return to your home - to your captive?" Her tone is only that of curiosity. She would almost journey with the brute simply for the joy of watching the drama unfold.