As Fell confronts the pale stallion, he shifts, and Fell realizes that one eye is the same milky white as Maziel’s. The other, hazel and savage, pins Fell beneath its gaze, and the black stallion experiences the sudden and unexpected weight of authority. It’s a far different feeling than the aura of diplomatic influence that surrounded Solomon. It is wild, untamed confidence, and it exists in a context that is shockingly familiar to Fell. He gets the sense that the scarred golden stallion is someone who follows his nature with unapologetic ferocity.

Envy is a new emotion for Fell, incited by the simple realization that there is another in this world who confronts obstacles with violence, and who does so with a measure of genuine confidence. The black stallion perceives no insecurity, no self-hatred from the scarred golden roan; and for that, he is terribly, achingly, envious.

He is too surprised by this to react, even when the Dreadstag begins to speak. For some reason, Fell had assumed he could not, or maybe did not; after all, their only interactions thus far had been brief, and not exactly chatty. The little flicker of surprise at the roan’s voice brings sharply into focus a sense of familiarity; he hadn’t expected speech because he saw himself in Dreadstag. This brings him an odd amount of — hope? Inspiration? Something not entirely unpleasant, and it is only strengthened by the gruff praise of his words. A small, shy feeling of pride swells within Fell, fed by the strange sensation of kinship.

This is no doubt a storm of unfamiliarity for the black stallion. He remains tense, alert, though his ears cup forward with interest, and he reciprocates to an extent the unthreatening body language of the roan. It had become clear to him — more through his posture and movements than through words — that this didn’t have to be a violent encounter. He listens as the pale stallion speaks, eyes following as he swings his head toward the two mares with him, and there his gaze lingers for a moment while their purpose is made clear to him.

When Dreadstag shifts to the side, Fell eyes him, though things are making more sense now. He does recognize the similarities between his scent and Bluechild’s, and the niece he mentions could mean no one else. His nostrils flutter with a silent breath of understanding.

Choose one, he commands, and Fell’s yellow-gold gaze flicks to the Dreadstag’s daughters. Both look healthy and capable of withstanding Tinuvel’s harsh climate, and neither look concretely disagreeable. As it is Fall, there is no sense in allowing his own lust to make the decision; such freedom has only ever allowed the beast and its appetite to get him eyeballs deep into trouble. He steps forward, one ear trained on the palomino roan, and approaches the sisters.

Fell has been in the business of herd leadership long enough to know that he has neither the interest nor the patience in chasing after mares who do not want to be here. Hunting down one-time encounters with less-than-willing participants on the Crossing is one thing, but keeping a mare who is unhappy in a herd is not something Fell wishes to attempt again. If either one outright rejects him, he will accept that the decision has been made for him.

He extends his muzzle toward the two mares, breathing in their scents. One of them, he finds, is slightly familiar. The paint and dun markings, coupled with a recognizable hint of lavender and pine mixed with her overall fragrance, cause Fell to suspect that she is one of Solomon’s bloodline. There is no way to be sure if this is of any consequence — he can’t exactly ask — so he moves closer to the other mare, the red dun.

She is smaller, and warmer in color. There is nothing about her that gives Fell pause. He whickers slightly, the breath fluttering past his nostrils, and retreats. Satisfied, Fell faces Dreadstag once again, and indicates his choice with a bob of his head. The suspicion that this may be some kind of trick has crossed the black stallion’s mind, but until this point, nothing concrete has lent credibility to that thought. He has relaxed a bit, with the pretty dun mare in his peripherals; if the pale stallion had wanted to cause trouble, he thinks, he would have done so already.

FELL

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