† recite your prayers in the dead of night †
She felt his skin twitch beneath her tongue. Did this dark stallion revel in her touch or was this a foreign sensation for him. Witche could be surprisingly perceptive at times and she senses that his mood had changed, like the ebb and flow of tides dancing behind them. He didn’t seem to be a threat to her life anymore. In fact he was almost chivalrous in the manner in which he asked her to travel with him. Stiff legs protested for a moment but the little mare forced them to move forward. An affirmative nod was her answer.
Downcast mocha hued eyes focused on the tangled long black strands of his tail swaying a few feet ahead of her. A sweet smile graced her lips for a moment as she remembered how she would hold onto her mother’s tail when she had been a young foal. It had been a long time since Witche had reminisced about her dame. She couldn’t even recall her mothers name (or her own birth name for that matter). There weren’t many things she could remember about her mother. She couldn’t picture her face, all the memories were fuzzy, cloudy and devoid of color.
Witche had never been very good at ignoring the impulsive thoughts in her head, reaching forward with her dainty muzzle she takes a small lock of his hair into her mouth with surprising gentleness. “So,” she mumbled quietly around the tail hairs in her mouth, “who’s blood is that anyway? And are you normally covered in blood?” Her ears pricked forward curiously waiting for an answer that part of expected not to come. She would be happy to fill the silence with small talk but Witche assumed that this guy was the tall, dark, mysterious brooding type.
W I † C H E
mare - three years - homeless |