Common

Something about turning three had filled Abraxas with fire: not the controlled, slow-burning kind, but the wild kind that left nothing but scorched earth in its wake. A year in the Lagoon had groomed him into a fine young stallion, and his light champagne coat bore the marks of months of dedicated sparring. But he was at a loose end, with no purpose or aim, and it felt as though he was training for a war in peace time. It did not help that the mood in the Lagoon as of late had been relaxed to the point of apathy. Brax had waited for some kind of sign, some signal or missive from his leaders that would give some direction for his unspent energy, but none had come. Left to his own devices, as soon as autumn fell his hormones had quickly taken lead and given him a new purpose.

Women.

He spied his first charge one fine, crisp day as red and brown leaves crunched beneath his hooves. The mare was young, about his age, and her bold white markings stood out against the warm colors of the autumn foliage. Coming close, the realization that she was, in fact, not conscious gave him momentary pause but did not deter him. Abraxas settled quite near her and cocked one hoof, then let his eyes roam her body, taking in every hair, whisker, and eyelash. Being this close to a mare made his inexperienced heart flutter, but outwardly he was the picture of cool confidence, relaxing his frame into a stance he could hold for as long as need be. He yawned, scanned the rest of the Common for any other would-be suitors, and then settled into waiting mode. While he waited he hummed tunelessly, as though there were no other place he would rather be than waiting for a sleeping beauty to open her eyes.