quinn.

She comes to him on his way out of the Oasis, keen blue gaze watching the distant shape of Rhaenys off doing… whatever fillies do. Quinn mostly leaves her alone, but his attention is always on her, for he is loathe to risk harm to the little filly. One dark ear flicks to the approaching mother, and the other remains pointed toward the child. Quinn halts.

I have missed you, she purrs, and in her presence Quinn forgets about the kid. His face turns to meet her as she stalks up to him him, blue eyes sharp against her chocolate coat, as though he could cut right through the sweet flesh and see beneath. “Well, what a coincidence,” he rumbles, skin twitching where her whiskers tickled him. He tucks his nose against her neck in kind, teasing it beneath the waterfall of white-gold locks, nibbling on the skin kept hidden from the sun by her thick mane.

Are you ready to play a game?

Quinn cocks an eyebrow, a coy half-smile turning his mouth charmingly crooked. “As if you even have to ask,” he teases, his tone dropping into a playful you should know better scold. He pulls his head back, tucking his chin to his muscular chest, the Spanish arch of his neck curving attractively upward. Quinn is not a vain stallion, but Nyimara preens for him, so he feels it is only fair to return the favor. “Tell me about this game,” he purrs, the demand softened by the quiet of his voice and the knowledge they both shared that Nyimara didn’t actually have to do a damn thing he said.

stallion. spanish mustang mutt. 15.3hh. smoky black overo.