There was an almost feverish glaze to August's eyes as he met the gaze of Lir: the remnants of adrenaline, fading fast in his cooling-down body. He wondered how he looked to the Prairie lead: whether Lir noticed the sweat, the slightly elevated breathing, the heavy musk of another stallion on him. Whether it was obvious he'd just been in a brawl; whether his mask of a well-behaved male was sitting crooked on his face. He felt like a buffoon, like a rabid bear playing at high tea.

But whatever Lir's judgement, he gave nothing away. Indeed, the stallion's greeting was as cool and nondescript as his own.

Yet Lir's nostrils fluttered. August made a mental note to take a dust bath later.

He gave a noncommital shake of his head as he replied to Lir's question, and his tone was a little too relaxed, his natural twang coming out as if in defense his phony words. "All's well, sure. Well as can be. Just been fendin' off a little trouble on the border. All well with you? With the herd?"

August thought back to the terse exchanges he'd witnessed between Lir and a few others in recent months and pressed his lips together, eyeing the Lead with interest.