Meadow

When they'd first met, the stallion's utter silence had infuriated her. She had poked and prodded at him, taunted and teased - and no matter what she said, no matter what she tried, the only responses she ever got came in the form of rough physicality. Even if he couldn't help it, she'd hated it. Hated him.

Now, though, after months of Atticus and his big, fat mouth, going around and around with him in verbal spars that made no sense and never had a clear winner... now, the curly-eared man's silence felt like a blessing. Funny, she muses, how time and distance and a brand new enemy can make the old one look much more friend-shaped.

For a long moment they study each other, locked firmly into place. She is far too stubborn to make the first move, far too proud and headstrong to admit she wants him, too, that in some strange way she's missed him - and luckily for her, she doesn't have to. Fell advances towards her, offering no greeting save for the crunch of dry leaves beneath his hooves. Vitani's ears twitch back, uncertain, and she shivers. When did the sun stop shining? And when had it gotten so cold?

The last few months of her short life have knocked her expectations low enough for her to assume he'll just keep coming, that he won't stop until he has her under his full control, and as he draws his muzzle out to her she braces, anticipating the feel of his lips roving greedily over her skin, regardless of whether or not she wanted it. But - he stops. He lingers, the ghost of his warm breath tickling her whiskers, and waits for her to reciprocate, almost cautious. "I can't believe it," she says, hoping the dryness in her voice will be enough to mask the emotion rising like thick sludge in the back of her throat. "Once again, my prince has come to save me."

Vitani closes the gap between them, bumping her shell-pink nose against his dark one, exchanging a few quiet breaths. She knows she can't avoid the obvious, not now that he's likely scented the potpourri of wet algae and stallion musk lingering over her own soft perfume. Her muzzle jerks sharply back, tucking close to her body.

"Unfortunately," she drawls, "the Bachelors got to your damsel first." The way she spits out the word for the Lagoon inhabitants, the venom behind it, betrays her distaste for her captors, her status as an unwilling participant in their stupid little attempt at bucking the basic tenets of herd life. As much as she wants to be rescued, wants him to sweep her off her hooves and spirit her away... she can't leave Zira behind. She won't. The only way she can even consider attempting an escape right now is if somehow, by some miracle - some magic - Fell has already found her daughter, slipped her out of the Lagoon unnoticed, and hidden her somewhere nearby, waiting for Vitani so that the three of them might abscond together into freedom.

But life, she has learned, is not a fairy tale. She is no fair maiden, Fell is not a prince, and springing her from her tower will require much more than simply letting down her red-gold hair. There are no happy endings here - but for now, in this brief respite from her own self-made Hell, from the clutches of the smirking, sunwashed dragon that holds her prisoner, she'll take what she can get, and hope that it all, somehow, works out.