Atlantis should have little reason to see Peyote again, unless it was to slip among the ferns and vines of the jungle and pick off unsuspecting herd members to drive back to the Lagoon. Yet when his hooves touched the warm, soft sand of the island, he did not point his freshly washed body for the shadows. Instead he shook the droplets from his coat and dropped his nose to the ground, huffing a few big breaths carefully so he wouldn’t suck any sand in, but could take in the scents and read who and what had traveled here recently. His dark tail flagged up off his hind as he trotted down the length of the shore, making a lazy zig-zag pattern, but clearly searching for something in particular.
The mingling scent of the herd, particularly that of the behemoth who led this territory, needed to be avoided at all costs. Peyote had been much smaller and much younger when he watched his sire tousle with the great draft stallion, but he remembered the ferocity in which he had fought and decided he would rather avoid that type of conflict today. He wondered if, even though he’d been nothing more than a boy, Tyr would remember him trailing after the Lagoon boss and already knew the familial tie. If he did it would not bode well for Peyote, even less so if Tyr were to learn the exact reason for Peyote to be poking around his territory.
Something had transpired the night he tucked away in the storm; she had found him, or he had found her, Peyote wasn’t sure. All he could remember was the warmth that’d flooded the cave and his body, and how good it had felt to be close to her again. Rivka. Peyote could see her face so clearly; she was one of his best, consistent memories of his young adulthood in the Lagoon. He still did not completely understand that her time in the Lagoon had been unkind to her; to Peyote, every chance he’d stolen in her company had always been fun.
Eventually he caught her sweet, unique perfume and felt excitement ripple through his body. A deep nicker rumbled up from his chest as he popped his head upright, digging a narrow hoof briefly into the ground before he took another deep breath and turned his body toward where he thought she’d gone. Now that he was able to track her, Peyote’s demeanor changed from the way it’d been when he first came on the beach. Now he lowered his bulky head low, hunched his shoulders and trotted forward, developing muscles rippling under his thickly-grown winter coat. There was a shift in his aura; something serious and predatory. He was mostly unaware of it; when Peyote was on the hunt, he became focused on his prize.
When he found her, Peyote did not lurk in the shadows and spend time assessing their surroundings. He also didn’t stop to look if anyone else was nearby like he normally knew to do. The moment Peyote spotted her pretty figure by the water, a loud, happy nicker bubbled out of him and he threw his head, giving a little hop before picking up his pace and running toward her. His ears were perked forward and his blue eyes were bright. He looked every bit the excitable young stallion who’d played with her in the Lagoon, completely clueless that his abrupt disappearance might’ve caused her any sadness or that she might not want to see him. Immediately he assumed she must feel like he did, so he crowded quite quickly into her space, reaching out to try and brush his lips across her body and inhale her sweet scent deep into his lungs. He even reached for her hair, trying to playfully tug it. If Rivka tried to move away from him, Peyote would pursue her. He was mesmerized by the way she made him feel; by how alive he became when he was near her.
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