Falls

She feels him before she ever sees him. Years of constant vigilance have given her this skill, this uncanny ability to sense the eyes upon her, and her body tenses at first, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. But she finds him - takes in the sight of him, now, his mahogany frame edging ever closer, and she stays, motionless save for the flare of her dark nostrils.

He smells... familiar, in a way, musky and deep. Masculine. Like the Lagoon located on the island's southmost tip, but without the damp, algae-tinged tang of the swamp. Instead of green, he smells like - she flares her nares again, considering -

Like dirt. Dirt and sand, but not the sand that lined the vast green expanse of the Crossing. Different, somehow, yet not unpleasant.

The mare is puzzling over it, silent as the snow collecting in ever-growing flakes on the tousled threads of her charcoal-colored forelock, when he speaks, breaking her out of her own thoughts. She ticks one ear back, then forward, following his gaze to the soft white flecks glittering like gems on her freckled hindquarters. Her throat clears, and she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, aware again of his attention. Of the warmth emanating off of his skin, and the distance narrowing between them.

"Snow," she says, the sound of her voice - so rarely used, so rarely even needed - a strange echo in her throat. His exhale drifts across her flesh, the heat of summer spreading from his parted lips over her flank, down to the pit of her stomach, up to her dappled cheeks. Her own skin twitches, as if shaking off a fly, and she quickly looks away, tilting her chin up towards the sky. "Look," she murmurs, following the flakes as they swirl down from the heavens, hoping to quell the restless, pounding beat of her icebound heart.

She holds herself like this until her breath comes steady, until she can feel all four hooves planted firmly on the ground, until she's sure the next cold breeze won't carry her away. Slowly, her eyes drift down, settling on his face, and she watches him, thoughts and questions piling up in her mind one after another after another. Who is he? Where did he come from, and what is it like, if he didn't know about something so simple - so regular, to her - as snow?

She wants to ask him - but the wild thing in her holds her tongue, keeps her cautious and whispers that she does not know him. He may wear a horse's pelt, but there might yet lurk a wolf beneath it. She could be staring down her doom, a doe pinned and vulnerable in the slathering jaws of the beast.

But also, sighs the cool, soft breeze, pushing back her mane, he could be the key. He could be the end - or he could be something so much more. He could be the beginning.

Her gaze softens, trailing as his had done along the curve of his back. White flakes settle there, bright like stars against his richly-hued coat. "See?" she says, and reaches slowly for him, blowing her own warm breath across his flesh, watching as the tiny flecks melt away to nothing.