His teeth slam together with an uncomfortable, reverberating click as he goes to clamp down on Mṛgaśira’s crest. One second she is there, and the next she is gone, ducking and slipping out of his reach with practiced ease. He growls with fury, and rushes after her, but she appears all at once to be done with him. She stands a few paces away, and Fell pulls up short before her, his hind hooves planting in the soft summer soil and his forelegs rising in a short rear. His ears pin, and he tosses his head angrily before throwing himself back at the ground with the force of a colt in a tantrum. He gives an additional, final stomp of one front hoof, and blows loudly one of the heaving breaths from his exertion.

Fell isn’t tired, but in a sense he feels spent. His fury has lost its stamina, or at least does not have enough fuel to keep going on its own this time, and he burns out quickly as he and the red-and-white mare fall still.

He watches her warily, wondering if she’s had enough. She looks affronted, and for a brief moment he is caught in a battle between reciprocated offense (she started this?) and the ridiculousness of it all: Mṛgaśira with her expression of wounded betrayal, and Fell with his petty stomping about with such vigor that one might imagine his arms crossed and lower lip jutted out.

The foolishness of their battle wins, and Fell lets out a silent cackle. His barrel convulses with soundless laughter, and he even mocks himself with a little temperamental crow hop, like a colt who can’t reconcile with the fact that he’s lost a game of tag. The laughter isn’t a reflection of any sort of happiness, and he feels no release or liberation with the expression, but isn’t dry or cruel laughter, either. Maybe he’s lost his mind; he just doesn’t know what else to do.

FELL

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