The mare did not rise.

He remained nearby, but the bay stallion was not concerned. Age had slowed his companion in recent winters. There were mornings when the sun climbed well above the horizon before she stirred. Vidnir had long since learned that waiting was often easier - and less painful - than intervention or encouragement. His coat already bore countless faded marks left by her teeth. If the mare wished to rise, she would rise.

Until then, he would fill his belly with the gift of summer’s bounty.

As the sun rose, sound gradually emerged from silence. Birdsong. The buzz of insects that circled and bit. The intermittent snap of a twig, which always tensed his deep red coat. Summer brought abundance, but it also brought bears. Earlier in the season, he and the mare had encountered one freshly awoken from its winter-long slumber. A bear fat on berries and elk could be chased off, but one hungry and lean from months of starvation? The pair had run, and counted themselves lucky that the bear was slower.

A fly buzzed around his ear, landing on its tip. Vidnir flicked it off, his golden eyes finding the sunset-orange coat of the mare, still lying where he had left her. A small cloud of flies circled her as well. Some were even bold enough to land on her coat, but still she did not rise.

Treading carefully - lest he earn his companion’s ire - the stallion positioned himself closer to the mare. His sunbleached tail swung through the air, clearing the insects away. There was no grass nearby, so he let his head dip and eyelids slide shut. Only his ears betrayed his attentiveness. The black-rimmed organs twitched towards every sound, anticipating the squeal that would surely come.

But the mare did not squeal or snap at him.

She only slept.

The sun climbed higher, and the shadows shifted. His hunger returned, gnawing fretfully at the emptiness of his belly. And Vidnir allowed himself a single snort to disrupt the mare’s rest, knowing that she would rise soon. Her own hunger would wake her, and she would be as irascible as that bear. With that certainty in his mind, the young stallion drifted away from her again. A patch of dandelion caught his attention, and soon his hunger had quieted again.

In its absence, thirst made itself known.

Vidnir looked back towards the mare, showing hesitation in the outward swing of his ears. The stream was not far, but there were predators nearby. It was safest to go together, so that one might watch while the other drank. The red bay stood still for the span of a few breaths, in the midst of some internal battle. Then finally, he approached the mare with purpose. His muzzle lowered to nudge her, legs tense and ready to carry him away at the slightest hint of aggression.

His muzzle bumped her shoulder.

The mare did not move.

After a brief pause to allow for a delayed reaction, Vidnir nudged her again. This time, his dark-skinned muzzle shoved at her neck.

There had never been much give to the woman who had taught him winter, predators, and hunger. But somehow she yielded even less now. And she had never ignored him before, particularly in situations where a pinch of teeth or sharp kick seemed necessary corrections. With a glance towards her closed lids, Vidnir dared a sharp nip on the fold of skin just behind her elbow, dancing back immediately after.

The burst of violence he expected did not come.

Something within him broke. The stallion lurched forward with a screaming call, rising up on his hind limbs. Still the mare did not move. His hooves clawed the air briefly, then slammed down on either side of her head. Nothing. He rose and fell once, twice, three times - his calls getting louder each time. She would not ignore him. She would rise.

In the end he fell back again. Heart hammering, breathing as hard as the day they’d outrun the bear. Thirst was no longer a coating of sand in his mouth, but a fang in his throat. Vidnir swallowed, gazing wistfully in the direction of the stream. It was not safe to go alone. He needed the mare to watch while he drank. So he waited.

The wind shifted. A fly landed on the mare's shoulder.

She did not rise. The ache in his throat grew stronger.

Until finally - finally - the stallion turned his back on the still chestnut figure, moving to the water’s edge with slow strides. He stood there for a long time before he lowered his head to drink, letting his thirst overpower caution.