.Twinge.

There was a notable difference between herself and her mother. Harlequin had always contented herself with standing on the sidelines and remaining impartial to the affections and praise of stallions. Twinge was perhaps a bit more vain. Although she made an effort to keep that little trait to herself, the red patched woman cannot help but to take advantage of an opportunity, especially when it presents itself. Now Twinge would never dream of using her vanity of feminine wiles in an attempt to gain power (like the one that Bacardi offered freely to her now), but hearing praise from his lips did much to stoke her ego in much the same way a pet might seek the touch of its master.

The words that fall from his lips are far from what she expected. Were she a more emotional mare, she might even have found herself teary eyed or choked up. To hear in his own words how much her loyalty and wit meant to him was enough to ensure to her (because it was not like she was going to tell him anyway) that there would never be another stallion in her life. From the moment that he rescued her from the advances of the old foolish rogue, Twinge had known there was something special about the handsome golden eyed stallion. However it was not until this moment that she did not realize just how deep that devotion really went. Love? No. She has always balked away from that word. Mother warned of its frivolous use. So many mares used the word or followed meek as lambs in the wake of the very word. Twinge refused to believe them or ever let their mention fall past her own lips. Never had that thought crossed her mind until this very moment.

The gleam in his bright eyes and the playful chuckle of his voice is her saving grace. A softened, mischievous smile tugs the corners of her lips upwards as she too chuckles, this time, with a bit more solidarity to her voice. The word ‘love’ once more slipping into the recess of her heart where it belonged without ever having passed her lips. ”Now that I can do…” she murmurs, leaning into the touch of his lips against her cheek so that her own blunt teeth could tease the ends of his straying mane.

For a moment longer she enjoys the silence that builds between them, mother, father and son. A small family bonding in the nearness of one another before being thrown into the wilds of their world. But even small moments like this must eventually come to an end.

When Bacardi suggests they move away from this place, the look in his fierce eyes are protective and watchful as his gaze sweeps through the dense set of trees. Small fluted ears perk forward to listen as her own nostrils quiver, the scent of the woods hidden beneath the musk of blood and birth. ”You are right.” she murmurs, keeping her voice as soft as possible. Despite the weariness in her limbs she bends to nudge Burn to his feet and despite his squeals of protest, urges him along ahead of her and away from the stench that no doubt would bring the wolves and other predators searching for an easy meal.