A dark shape on the beach ahead sharpens in Fell’s focus. It is sleek, black, unmarked as far as he can tell. He pauses in the sand, watching with growing concern as the horse approaches — it is not one of his mares, nor any of his children. He lifts his muzzle to the air and pulls in a breath through flared nostrils. The stranger’s scent is unmistakably male.

Fell slams a forehoof into the ground and blows sharply, his great barrel constricting as he blasts the air from his lungs into a cloud of steam and a harsh sound. The stranger stops, but there is no way to tell if his distance is because of Fell’s warning, or if he never intended to get too close. The Bay stallion eyes him with suspicion, making note of several things in this other male’s favor — he hasn’t snuck in, and does not carry the scent of any of the Bay mares on his hide. He has approached Fell directly, and does not appear interested in a fight. It wouldn’t matter much if Fell was interested in a fight anyway, but he doesn’t often encounter stallions who are not trying to take from or control him, so he does not leap into it right away.

The other stallion speaks, introducing himself as Zurok. Fell has largely picked up the habit of selective hearing — words don’t do him much good, others as well as his own, so he tends not to bother with them at all — but he sets this aside, curiosity causing his ears to twist forward and tune in. He is suspicious, but not aggressive, yet.

He is surprised to hear the rest of the message with which this stranger comes. Fell had perhaps expected the offer of a trade, or even a tentative alliance, though that was far-fetched. To live in the Bay with him? Unheard of.

This isn’t an outright offensive proposition, though it is wholly unfamiliar to Fell personally. The problem comes when Zurok requests a conversation, and Fell’s ears tick back with irritation. Is this some kind of joke?

The sickening feeling of othering begins to rise within him, bringing its lifelong and inseparable companion of anger. He has had enough of jokes, too much of jokes. No one has made fun of him for his defect and gotten away unscathed since he was a wobbling colt. His lip curls, and his heavy black tail lashes against his flanks, but as he is expecting the other stallion to react in some way — to sneer, to laugh, to attempt to mask some cruel sense of humor beneath a too-innocent expression — nothing happens.

Zurok truly does not know.

Fell grumbles as he cools off a bit. His ears come forward again, the intact one curling like a horn over his forelock, the half one peeking jaggedly out through the coarse strands of mane. He hasn’t had this problem in years; everyone after Kohelet had already been told that the black stallion of the Bay is entirely mute, or figured it out in the context of a bitter fight where his lack of voice was entirely obvious. He is still irritated, but it comes from a place of insecurity. He does not like attention brought to his silence, but there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Zurok had ended his proposition with a question: don’t you agree? After several seconds of tense and angry silence from Fell (and probably awkward silence for poor Zurok) the Bay stallion bobs his head from side to side as if to say “maybe”. Zurok isn’t wrong, but there’s only so much Fell can contribute to a conversation beyond ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘fuck you’. Following his inconclusive gesture, Fell then jerks his chin at the other stallion in an upwards nod, as if to say, “go on”.

Then he waits.

FELL

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