She listened to the stallion speak; her head tilting a bit to the left in a curious habit she didn’t even realize she did. Much like a bird, Pyre let it all sink in before straightening again. So, she was to give him a month to woo her into liking him and his home, and if he failed, then she was free to go. It wasn’t a game she had heard of before, and Azrael certainly hadn’t done the same. It piqued her interest to think that he was so confident to lay out a bet that he clearly didn’t think he’d lose. Or perhaps she wasn’t worth keeping just yet, to care if he lost or not? She’d make him care by the end of the season. Pyre was certain of that, if nothing else.


Determination felt good flowing through her veins, and it made the already bold mare bolder. The sabino stepped closer to the stallion, bringing them up to exchange breaths if he didn’t pull away. “You truly wish to know who Pyre is?” she asked softly, his blue gaze drifting up over his spotted face to catch his gaze. “Then make sure to keep up.” Pyre barely offers a quick smile to curve her lips, the stallion’s only warning, before she jolts away.


Pyre doesn’t turn inland like many would. The mare likes the open expanse of the beach where the earth meets the rocks that gives her a bit of room to canter. Her drying mane and tail lift with the salty wind, and Pyre lifts her chin up towards the heavens as many of her desert breed like to carry themselves. Her delicate legs allow for a floaty appearance, as if she barely allows her hooves to touch the ground. Only the tracks left behind, and the steady drum of her hoof beats evidence to her reality.