Meadow

Things had grown tense in the Lagoon. Peyote had not spent enough time conversing with his brethren or lingering near when they spoke to understand exactly what the root cause of the issues was. As Peyote himself was not a conversationalist, on the rare occasion he did lurk near enough to one of the Lagoon brothers, it was never for heated discussions or long debates. Additionally, Peyote seemed to enjoy parts of the Lagoon that remained otherwise unoccupied. The places where the water sat too long in the ground and turned the mineral-rich dirt to a sticky muck. Where the smell of the stale bog was so thick, the trees grew too close together for the ocean breeze to reach through and freshen it, that sometimes it could make one’s eyes sting if they weren’t more accustomed to it.

There were things he did know, like that he enjoyed sparring with Garmr, or trailing the black-speckled hide of Insengrim; too, these brothers participated in the acts Peyote had been taught from birth were the right of every Lagoon bachelor. Between attempting to thieve from herds across the islands to outright challenging their herd leaders, Peyote felt like he understood the motives of these men and was not confused by them.

However, there were a few brothers within the Lagoon that he did not quite understand. Namely the boss, who acted nothing like the only boss Peyote had known - the very stallion who sired him and who raised him and who molded him to be what he was.

With tension growing, Peyote felt like he should do something to ease everyone, and knew what the easiest way to do that would be. He needed to find a mare, preferably one that could be bullied and cowed into doing whatever a more aggressive horse might demand, and bring her back to his brothers as a gift. Perhaps he would even drive her right to the boss himself; maybe being delivered a trinket would help the boss remember what it was the Lagoon was supposed to be doing.

(He did not anticipate growing attached to the trinkets himself, but that would be a challenge he would face later on.)

Peyote prowled from the Lagoon, his coat smeared in dark mud that’d dried and cracked, mane and tail clumped together by the same muck. He did not turn to push himself into the ocean and go after one of the islands like he’d been doing the last couple of seasons, though. Instead, the bachelor decided to try his luck nearer to home, only venturing as far as the Meadow. It’d be easier to pick off a lonely lamb here, their shepherd tending to the flock an entire island away.

He had only just paused at the break of the trees inland the meadow when he took note of a figure coming ashore across from it. Peyote’s head lowered as he started forward, trotting off through the grasses to approach, eyes watchful as he did. The creature shook themselves free of water, and the nearer he drew, the more he could make out their defining features. The Lagoon bachelor came to a slow halt still a fair distance away, allowing himself time to lift his head up and study the other horse from afar.

Light build, sweet face, loveliest break of rich, earthy browns and pretty whites, with some inky black here and there. When the sea breeze brushed over the waves, up the shoreline and reached out to him, he found the last piece of information he’d been curious about.

A mare.

Peyote snorted and struck a forehoof into the grass, which had less of an impact in sound, cushioned as it was by the blade. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the girl, walking southward just a few yards in front of him. Peyote’s ears flicked forward, then back, and his head dropped again as he started forward. His steps did not amble, but were put down with purpose. He drew his speed up to a pushy trot, turning right for her. He would make it unmistakable that he was now pursuing her. What would she do once she took note of him? Pick up her gait and run faster to try and get away? Kick out, hoping to strike him? Spin about to try and face him head-on?

The unknown was nearly just as exciting as finding out just how this painted mare would react to his more brutish approach. The Meadows were meant to be a place free of any forceful sort of claim, but nothing could stop Peyote from trying to bully what he’d decided he wanted down the shoreline and back to the Lagoon.