No doubt any other would have before bored of her interrogations and perhaps abandoned the attempts for less wary options. To see the stallion merely meeting her caution with gentle eyes is refreshing. Still, the shields remain in place.
Curiosity fills her silver eyes as she listens intently to his explanation for the number of their family. It made sense really, considering the number he boasted of, having so many members of a single herd seemed almost impossible for a single stallion to protect himself. Of course he would need underlings or grown offspring to help protect when he could not. What did surprise her was that mention of brothers. Normally, at least in her family anyway, brothers competed against one another. There was very little cooperation and even less of a desire to share. However she is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not all families are the same after all.
When first he spoke of his family, Guinevere had assumed it was only a mere ploy to gain favor. It was not unheard of for stallions to put on a good show and brag about past conquests in order to gain favor. How funny it was that such memories could rise up unbidden even if the actual faces still remained a blur. Without warning the memory envelops her, as real and present as the gentle winds that caress her now. She can still remember the boredom she felt, remember the mask of indifference she kept in place and the drone of voices muffled in her ears by the longing of her gaze scanning the distant hills of sand. She had wanted to escape then, wanted to flee from the weight of duty and oppression of control. Was that the reason why she had ended up in the ocean fighting for each breath filling her lungs? The memory did not linger long enough to answer that.
The stallion does not seem to take any offense to her brash question. Instead of narrowing his eyes in displeasure or burrowing his ears back amid the tumble of crimson mane crowning his head, the most her blunt response gains is a flick of his ears. Dutifully she listens intently and even offers him a softened smile as he shoos away her apology with a toss of his head. His soothing words are akin to the comfort of a loose fitting robe draped across her shoulders to fight off the chill of the desert night. The thought of being able to feed the desert sands beneath her toes again, to feel the hot sun beat down upon her back, even the arid desert winds as they teased and tangled the ends of her charcoal mane into submission. The picture it paints in her mind is almost real, even as she releases a longing sigh. ’Obedience of course, is required….’ those words alone cause her eyes to narrow and ears to turn backwards in displeasure. Obedience. The very word drew a sour taste to her tongue and twisted her stomach. The idea of another forcing her hand is a hard pill to swallow and yet it is one that she knows she had been dealt her entire life. Obedience. Her small muzzle quivers as she gives her own head a shake, forcing the emotions to once more disappear from her eyes. ”I don’t… I don’t know if I am good at that part.” she begins, pausing as an amused smile tugs at her ashen labrums. Salt and pepper whipcord flicks lightly against her hip as she moves closer to him, bringing her slender frame alongside his own in acceptance. ”But I guess it won’t hurt to try if it means getting away from this awful cold weather.” she finishes with a gentle chuckle. Arching her neck, she brushes her velvet lips against his bloodstained shoulder, unable to resist the urge to breathe in the scents of the desert that linger there. ”Lead the way, Antares.”
