They lingered in the uncertain dance familiar to creatures of prey, each waiting for the other to reveal intent. Vidnir was wise enough in the way of women to expect this one to charge him at any moment, squealing and snapping her teeth as the mare who’d raised him was wont to do. When a female of his species decided on their space, the bay stallion had learned, the only answer was to yield it to them — or suffer the pain of his defiance.

So the brief flinch that followed was instinct for him, and the actions of this strange woman unexpected.

Words. Words. Vidnir’s ears tipped towards them, his body going immediately still. There was even a gentle sort of wonder in his eyes — the expression of a child witnessing something for the first time. That their kind could make such sounds he’d known, in the same way he’d known how to stand after birth. But the mare had spoken so little that the words had become buried in the deep recesses of his brain. He could only remember a single one, spoken once with bitter reverence and another time with sharp impatience. Vidnir.

It wasn’t an answer to the stranger’s question, but it was all that he could offer her. All that he had.

His throat worked, his tongue feeling like some strange thrashing creature as it struggled to wrap the vowels around its curve. “Vidnir,” he finally stuttered, the syllables strangely clipped. And then to show that he was no longer afraid, he let his neck settle lower and jaw soften. After a moment, his head even tilted slightly to one side. As if it was weighted that way by the world of questions behind his eyes — eyes that still occasionally darted back to the unmoving figure lying beneath the tree.