Falls

Part of Riesling is surprised when the stallion stops. She’d been gearing up for either a fight, or to have to force some overly-invested, well-meaning stranger back. The fear of fighting comes from home, undeniably – but the fear of some do-gooder getting in her business? Well, that comes from the frankly bizarre stallions she’s met since coming to these islands. Everyone so kind and invested in one another, where in her past life she would have been fighting to keep Airèn alive and herself unclaimed, in this one she’s more at risk of someone offering to watch the pair of them while they rest and then clinging to them for the rest of forever.

This new stallion looks far more like what she’s used to from home. Battle-scarred, unkempt; he’s massive, taller than her and outweighing her slim build by a significant amount – as she is now, she’s not really much of a threat to him. He had to have recognized that, and yet still he freezes when she speaks. The heavy feathered hoof he’d lifted pauses in the air before being gently, near-silently set down. He glances between Airèn’s sleeping form and Riesling, gaze mostly hidden by a bushy, dark mane that makes it near-impossible to read his intentions. Her ears pin back slowly, golden eyes narrowed as she assesses if he is going to use this pause to rush them, if he assumes that because he listened her guard will go down instantly and they will be easy prey.

He doesn’t back away, but he doesn’t draw any closer. He just grins this smug, infuriating grin that sends Riesling’s ears even further back into her inky mane and has her lip curling in irritation. At least when the stranger speaks, he keeps his voice soft. Airèn doesn’t stir – but if Riesling tried to chase this stallion off she certainly would wake. So she’s held as a captive audience by her own unwillingness to disturb her newborn, Riesling has to listen to the stallion speak.

She snorts in annoyance at his little jab and bites back, “We keep doing it because you stallions can’t control yourselves. Two minutes of fun for you come Fall, and we’re left to suffer the consequences.” Not that she has ever regretted one of her children (save that first, abandoned boy that Riesling refuses to think of). But she is still mildly bitter about how all of the onus falls on the mares; their bodies put under stress, their futures dictated by the needs of another life. All at the whims of whatever oaf they’ve been stuck with to find a home. “Come a little closer,” she murmurs, letting her ears relax and her eyes go deceptively warm and inviting. Her gaze flicks along the stallion, and she casually shifts her weight back toward Airèn, rebalancing in case he takes her up on her threats and she needs to move. “And we can answer your question once and for all.”