Rather than flee, the silvery mare pushed through the water and drew closer. Peyote listened as it broke around her, as her legs splashed down into it with each step she took. He wondered how cold it was and how cold she was, glancing briefly across the dips and length of her figure to see if she shivered, then back to her face. It was her eyes he looked at next; he couldn’t remember a time he had seen their color. The uniqueness of them briefly captivated him, leaving him quietly watching her with intrigue and standing still for her approach.
She drew to a stop even closer than he’d expect, and Peyote stretched his white-face toward her, velvet nostrils quivering as he drank her feminine smell now that it was so near. Excitement rippled over him as he lifted his dark tail off his haunches, but he only grunted - more at himself than her - and tucked his chin back toward his chest.
It wasn’t often that anyone smiled at him. The inviting nature of it across her face made his ears perk at her. I… she started, and he blinked his piercing blue eyes. I'm not like him. I promise.
Him?
Peyote blinked and drew his neck into his shoulders so he could lift his head and see further. He glanced first toward the left, but didn’t see any other horses nearby. He looked toward the right, and saw they were alone. Even over his black-lined back, he couldn’t see any horses nearby. He had expected he would see someone lingering. Though Peyote had not learned the purpose himself, he understood that oftentimes when there was a mare, a stallion would remain nearby. Oftentimes the stallion would not want others to come near that mare and, when he came too close, Peyote would be met by hooves and teeth.
Normally he rather enjoyed it; fighting had been taught to him since his legs were sure enough on the ground. Right now, however, still nursing the fresh aches and bruises that were settling in harder after his visit to the Bay, the prospect of getting into a fight wasn’t exactly something he favored.
Still, he couldn’t see anyone nearby. Peyote looked back at the little mare standing in front of him. “Who?” He asked her. Finding himself actually wanting to know.
Normally he avoided the company of mares. Those that resided in the Lagoon were mostly unhappy to be there, and as he grew older he found himself affected differently by the fairer sex differently than he used to be. Maybe it had been because of that one moment in the Bay, when he’d first charged the Bay mare and seen her fear, then the moment following where she’d gathered her courage and worn a mask of rage, throwing herself toward him as he fended off her stallion. The moment he’d been safe back on Crossing Isle, he’d found himself thinking about her.
Now he was standing in front of this mare, wanting to know who she was talking about - who she was - why she was here - and all manner of questions he’d never bothered caring about before.
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