Fell’s eye rolls to the side at Khoshekh as the boy stands hesitantly at the fringes of the conflict. What do you want? he wants to snap at him; you have the gift of speech, so fucking use it. But even if he could vocally demand anything of his son, the white-slashed stranger shivering on the pebbled shore saves him the trouble by catching his focus once again. Fell remains taught, itching to throttle the stranger, held back by a very thin scrap of self control. In part, he is curious, and though he is angry, the stallion is doing little to fan the flames; he is, in fact, actively trying to diffuse the situation, something Fell has never seen another male attempt to do. Except Khoshekh, now, as well; apparently.

It is difficult to listen. Though the black stallion has reached something close to a controlled false-calm state, the blood still rushes through his ears. He is on that verge of anger where he shuts out the world; if he cannot interact properly with it, he will not allow it to interact in any civil manner with him. He forces himself deaf, pinning hooked ears firmly against muscular neck. If the world sees fit to keep him in, then he will force the world out.

It is the sun-colored mare who brings his attention back to the present, out of the pit of feral self-pity and misguided rage. His head snaps toward her as she touches him, gold eyes boring down on her face for a moment. She seems to be pleading with him, and his ears untuck.

The black-and-white stallion is offering him a trade, Fell realizes. Exactly zero of the trades Fell has attempted have succeeded, and his eyes narrow with suspicion at the proposal, despite its overt attractiveness. He has wondered in the past if his failures at negotiation were due to his muteness, or because negotiating is inherently the weaker option in comparison to fighting for what you want. There is no doubt Fell is willing to get his hands dirty, but with the absurd number of competing herd leaders and hungry stallions coming after Kohelet, Fell is both tired of fighting and more impatient than ever.

After rolling it over in his head for a few moments, Fell stamps one front hoof into the cold Tinuvel earth. He fixes Dhaniyā with his gaze, and moves to place himself between her and the outsider, before shifting his eyes back to the other male. He pins his ears for a moment, swings his head at Dhaniyā to usher her further into the Bay, and then turns away from the white-slashed male to retreat into his territory.

As he leaves, Khoshekh takes a few steps toward Rigel, his eyes moving from his father’s dark form toward the shivering frame of the arabian. “If you go to the Inlet, you can rest for a while,” he says. “My aunt rules there. She is friendly toward stallions so long as they are peaceful. Then you can find your mares. Trust me… if my father had not accepted your offer, he would have tried to kill you.” He looks at Rigel with an expression that is vaguely guilty, and his ears flick to and fro with uncertainty. “The Bay has had a lot of unwanted attention lately, so we’re all a bit on edge. I’m sorry about your wife, but she will be safe here until you get back. My father is… violent, but he doesn’t hurt his mares, and he’ll kill anyone else who would try.”

FELL

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