Fell takes a step back in alarm as the red-and-white mare suddenly shoves into him. His legs, not committed to bearing his weight in his dejected posture, take a step - two steps - backwards until his muscles finally wake up and brace with a bit more conviction. She batters against him like waves on a storm wall, and his chest aches with each blow.

His temper, which had been so quick to rise in his youth, so explosive, now slowly uncoils and stretches, lazily, as if from a long hibernation. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything but numbness and self-loathing (even when Shvana died, his grief had embodied his self-loathing and taken on a deafeningly selfish, white-noise quality). He angers now with the sluggishness of someone waking up from a deep sleep. He plants his hooves and finally braces himself against her, pushing back a little, then a little more. His ears tick back, then press against his neck, disappearing behind the coarse black locks of mane.

When she pivots and kicks out backwards, one of her delicate hooves strikes the angry and tattered skin of his chest. He grunts with the impact; it would have hurt even if he hadn’t been so raw there. His lips curl, and finally his teeth flash out, and he moves with some semblance of speed, shaking off the honey-slowness of dormancy. Fell’s big head thrusts forward like a striking snake, grasping, if he can catch her, a fold of red-flecked skin at Mṛgaśira’s flank. He pushes forward, into her flailing hind legs, tamping down the power of her kicks with his close proximity. With every step he lunges, bites, grunts. He doesn’t try to come alongside her, but simply presses into her rump, feeling the cracking thuds of her sharp little hooves against his legs.

He doesn’t want her to stop, but he tries anyway to smother her attacks with his bulk, crowding her, spreading his front legs to widen and solidify his stance. He slams down one front hoof, more to make a sound than to truly retaliate, but as his temper flares, so does his desire to strike a blow. He hasn’t bitten her very hard so far, and up until this point his intent had been to encourage; to coax out all of her aggression, to relish her punishment of him, but he is flaring up now with aggression of his own and his efforts to hold it back are faltering.

He shoves against her, turning his shoulder to bear the brunt of her kicks and curling around to her side to reach closer to her front. He lunges alongside her, pushing, crowding, reaching with his teeth for her red-stained withers and crest.

FELL

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