Meadow

A memory rose in his mind from his foalhood days. He'd been precocious then, always eager to explore Salem with or without his parent's permission, and had often taken advantage of the quiet evening hours when they were both tired from the day. He'd slipped away from them both one eve and had been slinking through the brittle grass of the high Desert when he'd felt the heavy weight of eyes on him. It was as if he could feel the creature's breath skimming over his skin, and feel the jaws of a predator grasping onto his neck.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he had finally found the she-cat lurking in the gloom (he remembered her being so close he could see each individual whisker), her great golden eyes fixated on him. By then, the sky had gone from warm splashes of orange and gold to almost purplish in the shadow of the night. He had shivered then, struck by the understanding that she could have killed him at any point if she had wanted to. Her interest in him had been dangerous...

... just as Mathilde's might yet prove to be as well.

Taurus would never claim to be a casanova; he lacked the spark that some horses had that drew suitors to their side like sweetened honey. He did, however, have a working understanding of how flirtation worked and he thought he could hear it in the cadence of her speech and in the words that she choose. He was flattered, but also absolutely certain that if she knew who he truly was, she wouldn't be so interested. He couldn't fathom why she had chosen him, and wondered absently if she believed that piquing his desire was the only way she could get help here. Either that, or she was more like the cat than he imagined.

"Talking, I suppose?" He responded, thrown off by her question. He wasn't about to rise to the bait, nor did he have any witty or flirtacious banter to throw back at her. "Maybe helping you find your bearings on the isle?" He clarified a half second later, although he couldn't stop the end from rising back into a question. Taurus still wasn't sure what she wanted from him, nor if it was in his best interest to offering anything.

Her response to his question made him bristle indignantly, unsure of what to make of her head-to-toe appraisal coupled with the scoff in her voice. She was the one that had approached him and implied she was brand new to the islands, what else was he supposed to think? As far as his understanding went of new arrivals to the islands, most ended up going home with the first party to indicate interest in them. If he wasn't the first she'd spoken to, why hadn't she gone home with the others?

Thankfully, Mathilde summarized what she'd learned so far and he nodded along with only a slight face as the minor misinformation she'd been given. "They are," he confirmed at her indication toward the outward islands. "Tinuvel and Luthien to the north, Atlantis to the east and Salem to the South. But there are herds here too," he continued, leaning into the dryness of this litany as refuge from the need to carefully choose his words. "The Peak is the mare herd to the north, I think, and the Lagoon is at the southern end of the island, for stallions."

He gave the equivalent of a shrug and pointed with his muzzle back toward Salem, not that it was visible through the greenery. "I'm from Salem, which is the desert island." An awkward sort of pause inserted itself as he cast about for what to say. "What, uh, what was it like where you're from?"