The Bay is quiet and chilly as the sky lightens to a pre-dawn charcoal. Fell has mostly dropped the act of avoidance, and each night he spends a little closer to the remaining members of the Bay herd. He still holds walls around himself as he waits for the others to take their opportunity to escape, but he knows of at least three who will not. It’s comforting.

No matter how close he draws to the warm bodies of the herd, Fell stirs early in order to walk the borders alone. It is on one such patrol when he encounters the blue roan mare — or, rather, she encounters him.

She makes no sound as she marches toward him. Fell watches, immediately on high alert: her body language screams violence, no matter the absence of a vocal challenge. He has battled with mares before, but this kind of intrusion into his home is usually reserved for other stallions. It gives him pause, but only for the barest of seconds. Mare, stallion, it doesn’t matter: this outsider is here for blood.

Fell surges to meet her. Her squeal of fury rips through the early morning air, and he responds only with increased momentum. His head lowers, ears pinning tightly against the tensed muscles of his neck, eyes empty and cold. As he had with Raegar’s raid, Fell relinquishes control. He steps out of his own way and lets the beast within him — the nature of himself, he realizes — have its way. So much of his life has been spent tripping over the damned monster, fighting with himself clumsily and without grace. It has taught him to pick his battles. There are times to hold himself back, and there are times to let himself go, to let the beast do what it does best and be satisfied for it. His mind is quiet, for once, the sound of his own hoofbeats filling his ears with a soothing pulse.

They crash against one another with exhilarating force. The roan mare’s teeth sink into the thick skin of his neck, and Fell throws his head back, one yellow eye rolling to fix on the pale mask of her face. He cannot make any sound of pain, but even if he could, he might not have. The bite sends shockwaves of euphoric frenzy through him, tightening his muscles, swelling his throat. Fell’s own jaws part and he slams his head toward her, grasping just as desperately as she had in those first frantic seconds for anything he can hold onto. He snaps and tears, apathetic (but not oblivious) to the screaming ache of that first bite. It overpowers every subsequent blow that she lands, fueling him, driving him mad with bloodlust.

Few thoughts make it past the beast at the helm to Fell, where he remains tucked in a corner of his own mind. He is hardly present.

The scent of Solomon does, though, and Fell calmly tucks it away for later.

FELL

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