Fell.

There is recognition in the voice as Nyimara seems finally to connect a name to his face. She sidles up next to him, and Fell’s skin twitches against her own, the proximity inciting an uncomfortable mixture of excitement and disgust. Fell may be a slave to instincts, but he cannot ignore the fact that Nyimara is his sister. His ears tick back slightly at the touch, but he does not pull away. He is apprehensive of his half-sibling; Naydra may have personally made the black stallion’s life hell, but Nyimara holds a title of notoriety. Nobody with that much influence, in Fell’s opinion, could entirely be trusted.

A silent chuckle is his only response to the silver mare’s question. A name for myself, he thinks with bitter humor. He can’t vocalize his own name, let alone spread it around the islands. Still, he is not unaware of the stirrings he’s caused amongst the other territories. His skin prickles in irritation at the thought of the backlash he’s received as a herd stallion thus far. As far as Fell is concerned, he is doing what nature built him to do, and the opposition of other herd stallions is, frankly, unnatural. He can understand resistance from individuals, but surely these men can’t be so oblivious as to believe that Fell’s actions are inherently wrong.

Nyimara’s second question pulls him from the spiral of angry thoughts before he can fall too deeply into his frustration. Are you alone? Fell raises a dark eyebrow, and casts about himself, hungry golden gaze sweeping over the empty desert. He turns back to Nyimara pointedly. Do you see anybody with me now? Fell understands that she could be asking in a more general sense, but that is information he may not yet be ready to give away, even if he could explain. If she is asking about his herd, or his children, or Kohelet, Fell would rather not give out those details unprompted. If she pressed, however… well, there is no sense in lying.

He nods. I am alone.

At this point, Fell has fallen still, no longer making his way out of the Dunes. The golden landscape around them is still but for a faint, warm breeze. No scent is carried on the wind, and Fell wonders, again, if Nyimara knows where Rougaru went. He turns to his sister and gestures broadly with his head to the territory around them. He doesn’t expect her to glean any meaning from the movement, except maybe an ambiguous air of curiosity. Tell me. About our father, the Dunes, where you’ve been, whatever. He brings his velvet-black nose back toward himself, and then bumps it against her cheekbone gently. Tell me about you. It isn’t as though he can tell her anything about himself, at least not directly, so their conversation is pretty much limited to the silver mare, but Fell will take what he can get. Any information about the old Paradise wolf pack would surely be useful.

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.