†
There is a version of himself, he thinks as he drags himself free of the ocean and makes his way south on the Crossing, somewhere just beyond his reach: a balance of hubris and rationale, passion and practicality. He has denied for two years the parts of himself in which he once indulged unchecked, without second thought, as if there was some innate sin in feeling. As if he were not worthy enough for this earth, as if he must fade into the background and bear passive witness to the lives of others, as if he should be punished for a crime that was not entirely of his own making.
Temblor kicks this thought away and rocks smoothly into a trot, outpacing the ghosts of his past as he focuses again on his goal here. He's been curious about the Lagoon ever since his discussion with Oswin in the Peak, and since it seemed the pale, well-spoken Prime Minister attached a negative slant to the competitive nature of stallions, he is interested to see how, or if, the bachelor band's ideas mirror the mountain mares. Thus he enters the Lagoon with intent, and though the smell of stallion is intermittent and, in reality, quite faint, to be amidst even this minimal concentration of testosterone sets his blood to pumping.
He really meant to encounter one of the male residents of the Lagoon, to discuss with a bachelor or two how they perceive the Peak, and the islands, and in general anything else that seemed relevant, but that was before he came upon the mare. At first glance he notices first her size, how perfectly she would fit alongside his shoulder without looking dwarfed, and then his eye is drawn rapidly along the curves of her body (too curvy, comes the whispered warning in his mind, quickly dismissed in favor of the long white stockings leading his gaze up and across her dappled rump), nostrils flaring in appreciation of the velvet-gray shade of her coat. A slash of white crosses her jaw and pales her throat, snaking out of sight over her withers. Temblor wonders what it would be like to trace those patterns before, or after, an intimate embrace.
She is stunning, and he must have her.
To all appearances, she is alone, and as Temblor cuts across the frosted grass of the sparsely wooded grove considered part of the Lagoon, he intends to engage her in conversation; ask her name, gauge her level of interest, be civil as he has been civil so far with everyone else on these islands.
How does it go?
'The road to hell...'
A contender appears. A bachelor, a bystander, an I'm-just-passing-through; today it doesn't matter. Laying claim to Paradise has stoked his pride, stirred up from the ashes a stubborn coal that flares with sudden heat at the appearance of this cream-and-tan rival. Temblor leans into it. He picks up speed and veers to intercept the other stallion, ears sleeked against the gray snarl of his mane and teeth reaching for the tender skin of elbow, nose or cheek. He disengages, suffers a hit and swings out of range, head bobbing to afford him a glance of the mare to be sure he is still between her and the bachelor.
He has missed this: the fight for what he values (or in this case, a who); the triumph following a successful spar; the way victory over another is often compounded with the tangible reward of a someone new to bring into the herd. On the other end of that high is the frustration of a battle lost, of watching someone else take off with what feels like a piece of you, and he is almost sorry to put his opponent in that position as he lunges again, this time crowding in close to try to force the other male back, emphasizing his push with another series of snapping teeth— but he wants her, this mare with cloud-white hair, enchanting as a thunderhead heavy with rain, and for the first time in two years he believes he deserves to try for what he wants.
He has much to gain in driving the other stallion away, not the least of which is his newly rekindled pride. With the fight won, Temblor pivots, turning his attention to the mare. He wastes no time. Head snaking low, he drives her away from this male-dominated herd, beyond the borders of the Lagoon and all the way to the beach, relentless in his intent to get her away from the Crossing and any pursuit.
Only when they have crossed the ocean and emerged on Atlantis's shores does Temblor ease away, giving her space as he strides from the water. His hooves carve deep crescents in the soft sand as he turns, dripping, to observe her, trying to gauge through her body language how she feels about being fought over —and what her opinion might be of the victor who has just chased her all the way to her new home.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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