The attempt in Tinuvel’s Bay had been unsuccessful, but the painted grullo did not sulk as he made his way down the length of Crossing Isle, trailing its eastern shoreline with the intent to not rest until he’d returned to the comfort of the Lagoon’s swamp. A few places the stallion had managed to kick were aching as the adrenaline wore away, and he pulled his lips into a hard line, discomfort written at the edges of his mouth. His steps became stiff and, halfway across Crossing Isle he was finally forced to draw himself to a stop. A loud huff of air pushed hard out of his mouth, black-tipped ears flicking back as he gingerly shifted his weight and took as much of it off his back left leg as possible. That damned black stallion must’ve kicked him; the muscles were beginning to cramp.
Too, when he turned his white-face to glance idly around and survey where exactly he was, there was another ache in the skin stretched along his neck. That one he remembered. Peyote could immediately replay the image of the bay mare launching at him, eyes wild, white-rimmed, before she managed to grab his skin and rip away a small chunk of his dark mane. Excitement and anger rippled through him and he shook himself, grunting as he pushed his mind away from the memory.
It was then he became aware of two things. The first was that he was near the Meadow, where there was still plenty of grazing to be found despite the start of winter, the second was that the fresh rivers that cut through the territory, leading to the Falls, would quench his thirst and take away the rough burn that lingered there. He must’ve accidentally swallowed a mouthful of seawater when he thrashed into it.
Giving his black tail a snap at his hind, the young stallion turned and stiffly walked inland, leaving the rolling shoreline at his back. The sound of flowing water drew him, ears perked with interest as he came upon the freshwater stream. Distracted by his relief at quenching his thirst he didn’t notice the soft, silvery cream mare standing in its midst just a little ways up the river. He took in large, greedy gulps and exhaled with relief after he’d swallowed. His eyelids closed and he breathed another sigh before opening them, lowering his pale lips down to have even more to drink.
But then, in his peripherals, he took note of her. His head snapped upright, blue eyes latched immediately onto her. Since he had not been expecting to see her his surprise was evident, but it quickly shifted into something like curiosity. He didn’t leave the bank where he was standing to encroach on her space, but he didn’t stop watching her either. One ear flicked outward, then toward her again, and he blew a soft, warm breath toward her.
Curiosity was written all over him, but he was in no shape to charge at her like he’d done the mare in the Bay. He knew this and was too smart to test himself, but despite that, he found himself intrigued and wondered if she would flee as soon as she noticed him, or if she would discover she was interested in him, too.
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