If Solomon were honest, he was fully aware he had no business being away from the Cove. Especially not now with fall peppering the islands with the sort of temptation he had always been weakest to; the sort of trouble that was equal parts bliss and pain, regret and longing.
He had woken this morning stiffer than usual due to the cold, the whole length of his back knotted with pain, muscles so taut he had barely been able to rise onto shaky legs. And he had stood there, panting with the effort and feeling sorry for himself long enough to realize that something had to change. He couldn't continue like this, not with a whole herd and family he needed to care for.
Rougaru might be gone, but plenty of other threats remained in this world. A world he'd spent precious little time in as of late, he realized as his gaze drifted back across the ocean to the far-off ridgeline of the Peak. He'd once been an insatiable traveler, roaming from land to land in search of
something. Usually pretty faces, both old and new, but there had always been something for him to find or someone for him to meet. And on the rare trips where he came home empty-handed and empty-hearted, there were other things he gained too: news, knowledge, laughter... distraction.
The swim invigorated him. Terrified him, too (the memory of not being able to return home, of being lost at sea, away from everyone he loved threatened to drown him), but as he strode ashore on the Crossing - heart pounding in his chest - he felt alive again. The muscles that had been so stiff and sore this morning had regained most of their flexibility, and the ache that had set his teeth to grinding in the early hours now felt more like a pleasant burn.
He was saved from having to decide where to go next by the sounds of a scuffle up ahead. His gaze lifted to follow the young golden stallion as he harassed the slender mare at his side, a beautiful dark red roan. They were similar enough in carriage and form to be relatives, although it was obvious even from here that he already out-sized her. His gaze lingered on the lithe mare for a beat longer than was strictly necessary but then narrowed as the boy's petulance transformed from mild frustration into an outright attack.
Anger flooded him on her behalf, but it wasn't until he saw the evidence of her limp (and made the connection between the boy's insolence and her injuries) that he opted to throw all caution out of the window and interfere whether she wanted him to or not. The boy needed to learn a lesson in manners, and while such lessons were usually the job of a father, it was evident that he either wasn't around or wasn't capable of forcing the colt to learn respect. It was Solomon's firm belief that fatherless colts were the most at risk of becoming the sort of Lagoon tyrants that plagued the Island's herds, and he could not stand idly by and watch it happen.
The fact that he might also protect the little roan had more than a little something to do with it, too. Solomon would take a lot from his own kids, but watching them abuse their mothers was not something he would ever tolerate. And while he held no claim over the lithe roan (
yet, the thought rose unbidden, laced with a desire so powerful it gave him pause), he wanted her to be safe.
Taking a leaf out of the boy's own book, Solomon dropped his head and raced forward with ears pinned and neck snaked down. Without bothering to announce himself, he threw his body between the two of them, using his larger size and experience to try and force space between the little family. Perhaps if he thought this was a one-time issue, he might have let it go at that, at pushing the colt away and breaking up the fight, but there was something about the pain and long-suffering acceptance on her face as she'd limped away that made him worry this was a regular occurrence.
That this wasn't the first time he had harmed her intentionally.
If Solomon had his way, however, it
would be his last.
The tobiano king - still mostly agile despite his injury - would let the boy's behavior dictate how he continued to respond. His goal was to keep the boy separate from his mother long enough for him to calm down, but it was hard to deny the anger in his chest that wanted him to keep pushing, to keep driving the colt with teeth and hooves into smaller and smaller circles until he finally halted, exhausted or cowed. Sometimes boys needed to be reminded of their place in the world's pecking order, the tobiano included. He could not count the number of times he'd been forcibly put in his place as a boy and made to respect those around him.
But this was not his son. She was not (
yet, the word hummed in his ear again) his mare. And so if he managed to gain the sliver of space to talk to her that he desired (one ear still trained warily on the colt), he would drop his head slightly, and soften the stern expression on his face. Would allow his gaze to sweep back over her slender figure again as it had longed to do since those first moments - this time, ostensibly, in search of injury - and then refocus on her face with a strained smile.
"Are you okay?"
Stallion | Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano | 17 Hands | The Cove