Meadow

content warning disclaimer thing: just a general content warning for psychedelic’s posts! He’s a rough character who’s meant to come across as a bit shocking, so his verbiage may include a lot of curse words. He may also at times do or think very cruel, abusive things. Basically he’s just not a nice dude, so if there’s anything that may be potentially triggering to you I would suggest not reading his posts!

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A quick escape to Crossing Isle at the start of Fall was necessary not to pull him away entirely from Salem (strangely enough), but to find him something he’d decided he needed.

Psychedelic had never once been a stallion to crave or care about mares the way some of his brothers over the years past had. Herd life never enticed him, he found the thought of being responsible for the well-being of so many others exhausting. He’d loathed how much his mother had loved his father (ah, mommy issues) and he’d loathed how much his father didn’t give a shit about him or his mother (ah, daddy issues) and the older he got, the more he did fucked up things and turned his view of the world even more upside down.

Yet here he was, dripping saltwater on the shores of Crossing Isle, lifting his lip as he smelled the air and tried to find the strongest, closest, nearest scent of a mare he could find. Any one would do, he didn’t care, so long as he could get possession of her. He could drive her back with him to Salem, he’d learned the lay of the land enough to find little hideaways between the herds to tuck in. He’d keep her there too.

In turn she would give him something he couldn’t have without her…

Psychedelic snorted and started up the shore. Despite his older age (a whole two decades now) he was rather spry and in considerably decent shape. His coat was marred with countless hairless patches of scars from the multitude of fights he’d been in but he didn’t suffer any lameness and he’d been eating enough and wandering Salem enough to keep himself in some shape.

As tempting as it was not to feast on the abundance of grass or deeply drink the cool, running waters, the dun kept on his mission and made for the meadow the moment he caught scent of a mare having recently passed through. His eyes landed firm on the mare up ahead of him as soon as she came into view, his ears flicking back as his head lowered and he charged forward. He did not run her off or engage her in some fight immediately, but slowed as he came closer and gave her a once over.

She was healthy looking enough. She’d do.

“Who are you? Where do you live?” He didn’t care about either answer so far as understanding what kind of fight he was going to have to put up to make her his.