Falls

It was near the end of Abraxas's third year, and he felt, at last, like a full-blooded stallion. His posture was relaxed and confident, his head high and his hazel eyes bright upon whatever they fell on. His silver-gold body was lean and muscled, his coat a patchwork of scars from months of dedicated sparring with his Brothers. It almost did not even matter any more that it turned out he was a terrible fighter, and that his scars were as much a mark of his losses as they were of his efforts; he now knew the taste of a mare, and the memory of that sensory delight sang within him wherever he strolled.

As Abraxas reached the Falls one crisp autumn afternoon, he stood at the shore of the gently-rippling basin and pondered his own reflection for some time, wondering with secret pride and a little fear at the stallion he did not recognize. When he'd broken ties with his mother and fled to the Islands a year ago, he'd had no idea what he wanted, only that he had wanted something different: a life as unlike what his mother had wanted for him as possible. It seemed he'd achieved that.

Looking up, his gaze landed upon a mare across the pool doing exactly what he'd been doing, and he chuckled. She was a pretty thing, with a richly gold coat—as though she'd been conjured from the autumn leaves themselves—and with a dark mane and tail that contrasted beautifully with the snow-white patches splashed across her body. Abraxas was approaching her before he even realized what he was doing, and was already wondering what it might feel like to be atop her: if she would feel any different to his first mare. His heart beat a little faster at the idea.

Arcing round the pebbly edge of the pond, he neared her and flashed a bright smile. "I had a good look, but I don't think my reflection is quite as pretty as yours," he said. "What's your name, beautiful? I'm Abraxas, but you can call me Brax."