She is mid-hunt when she smells him coming, that thick, masculine scent of him weaving through the air. She pauses, losing track of the prey that she had but moments before been tracking and lifts her heavy head in the air, sniffing lightly. Risk and Spirit are away, for now. Being a mother has never stopped her from needing her alone time, after all, but she still contemplates running before Castile can find her. Slipping into the shadows and disappearing into the darkness—letting the rest fall away from her.
But she is no coward.
So instead he straightens and then shifts, shaking out the tangled mats of her hair onto either side of her curved neck, silvery eyes peering into the distance as she waits for him to find her.
When he does, she remains still, mercurial gaze not giving away whatever may live within her. The fury and the hurt, the frustration and confusion—all the things that she has let fester like a wound inside of her since her suspicions had been confirmed that day before the blue mare. It roars up the back of her throat but she swallows and instead forces herself to meet his gaze, studying them coolly for a second.
“Castile.”
His name feels like a stone in her chest and she feels that familiar need to run—to turn her back to the things that were so difficult to navigate and instead face the known instead. To lose herself to the fight or to the beautiful tragedy of a fight with a stranger. Instead she remains rooted, casting a glance over the familiar equine form of him before finding his gaze once more and rolling a dark shoulder.
“It seems that you have managed to find your way back to yourself.”
A slight pause, a shadow of a cruel smile before her lips flatten once more.
“How is your new family doing these days?”
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed
![[Image: sochi.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/rs3xFJR0/sochi.png)
I was less than graceful, I was not kind
be out watching other lovers lose their spine