These first few days on the islands have been strange and disconcerting. Though he and Marjorlaine had had few interactions with the locals, Matthéo was already feeling put off by their encounter with the scar-littered mare from the north. She had been intriguing, for sure, but the roan stallion still struggled to wrap his mind around her and the stories that were inscribed across her skin. That any land would allow their mares to occupy a space on the battlefield, or lead a land on their own, was simply backwards. Back home, such a thing would never have been permitted - society there saw only one place where a mare was fit to be: at home making children, ensuring the fate of their family one colt at a time, just as his own daughter would have one day.
Yet the young would-have-been king had continuously reminded himself, with much annoyance, that he could not expect such decorum from a place so isolated, so uncivilized, so bereft of any true government. Besides, he would be gone soon enough; once he located Marceline and forced her into submission, he would swiftly take her and Marjorlaine home where they could at last prove their loyalty to the king. Surely bringing the traitorous once-was queen to face true punishment would be enough to secure what had once been rightfully his. He refused to believe there was any other alternative.
But for now, Matthéo and Marjorlaine needed to focus on nothing else but recuperating from their arduous journey. He had left his sister on her own this day, though he would not have been surprised to learn she had followed him and was lurking somewhere within the treeline as he grazed, largely unaware of the goings-on around him. His cursory glance around the Meadow on his arrival had yielded nothing but tittering mares and the showy stallions vying for their attention. It was a game Matthéo was familiar with, but wholly uninterested in participating in. He had far more important things to do, more important plans to consider - he could not, would not, permit himself to become distracted. And so he settles near the edge of the Meadow and lowers his head to lip at the sun-dried grass, letting his mind wander to thoughts of Marceline and what he would do once he found her.
'So where are you from?' a feminine voice floats from somewhere to his right, some indeterminable amount of time later. Matthéo raises his head from where he grazes idly upon the parched autumn grass, the dark cups of his ears tilted forward towards the mystery inquirer. His glacial gaze comes to settle on the svelte figure of an Arabianesque mare, her amber eyes peering keenly towards him and the long, pale curtain of her forelock falling gracefully across her face. A smudge of brown behind her briefly catches the spotted stallion's attention, his attention shifting momentarily towards the figure of a lone stallion. His expression turns sour as he moves away, retreating swiftly across the meadow. His movements of little interest to Matthéo, he turns back to the silver-haired mare.
"Do you really care, madame?" he quipped, his accented voice filling the space between him as he quirks his brow at her. There was no annoyance nor apprehension in his tone, but rather a lilt of amusement to the words that fell from his lips. Matthéo's own ebony tail flicks idly against the white-speckled curve of his hip, his weight shifting into a more comfortable position. He does not move to offer her a greeting breath, nor does he draw any closer despite the apparent interest that is written upon her face. Rather, he idles in his spot and lets his gaze sweep over the stunning arch of her neck, across the lithe muscle of her shoulder and then across the slope of her hip. Dark nostrils flare to breathe in her perfumed scent, the alluring smell of her somehow sweet and spicy simultaneously. Surely it would be a lethal combination for a less level-headed stallion, but as it were Matthéo is adept at remaining steadfast and setting aside his baser instincts. But still, there is no denying that she is a fine specimen - no wonder the brown stallion had been so keen to approach.
"Besides, where I am from is not important. What matters more is why I am here. Surely that would be a far more interesting question to ask, non?" The smirk that curls at the edges of his lips holds a promise of a tale far more intriguing than the mundane story of a privileged youth in his homeland.. |