Although Vadim is not a stranger to a woman’s sharp quips and banter, he is not plagued with the same anger and bitterness as before. So, when she greets him with such confidence, he is not thrown into a temper as he might have been before. There is nothing in the large pale stallion that wants to dominate and snuff out her strength as he had done to mares prior to the red and white mare before him. Perhaps it is by her sheer luck, or simply fate. Vadim wasn’t one to question timing; mostly.
“A beating? No….” Vadim said, not about to admit his true defeat. “Your sire offered himself in your place if he lost. Why would I have won? He is clearly not my type.” The insinuation is clear in his words and in his green eyes as he lets them drift over her beautiful form once again before settling on her face. Zaria. He would make sure to remember it as he had done Sarama’s. Because when he saw her again, as he was positive he would, Vadim wanted to call her by it. To exclude himself from the list of strangers that might try and beckon her away with pet names as they pretended to know her.
“My name is Vadim.” the large stallion replied to her question. “Although I’m sure there are plenty of other names you’ll wish to call me.” He didn’t doubt that most of them were said in anger and hate for the things he had done. But Vadim refused to think of that now, not wanting the wash of regret to show on his face while standing before this strong young mare. Instead, he would keep his mask of over confidence and his lips pulled in that cocky smile.
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