The once vivid and blooming wildflowers have come and gone, replaced with the  long, golden grasses of autumn. Some of them crunch beneath the weight of his hooves on their roots, while most of them brush gently against his ivory and honey patterned stomach. The air is cooler, yet the warmth of the day left some heat to where the chilly breeze is nearly welcomed as it filters through the empty meadow, whistling through the hills and valleys as it trickles through Svedka’s two-toned mane. The breeze not only brings a coldness that sends a delightful shiver down his spine as if an icy finger had traced it, but the familiar scent of a woman he had not seen since spring.

The stallion snorts softly at the peculiarity of it, lifting his head to sample the wind once more with flaring nostrils. He grins wildly, moving forward at a brisk trot now - more purposeful in his movement through the meadow - while his honeyed ears flick back and forth for any sound that could help him find her easily. The afternoon sun is before him, illuminating the entire landscape before him in molten gold. Dust catches the rays and falls through the air like flakes of glittering sunlight, a beautiful sight, but not what he wanted to find. Svedka snorts sharply, almost desperately, but as he crests a nearby hill, his searching quickly comes to an end.

She is just as he remembers her - soft, angelic, beautiful - beneath the sun’s gentle rays, the sweeping wind bringing her scent to him once again. He does not hesitate, continuing forward in a quick trot towards her. Svedka’s neck curves mildly, pressing his chin to his chest as he approaches, elongating his steps so that he could get to her quicker. The stallion slides to a halt before her, both of them surrounded by golden stalks of grass and the dying warmth of the afternoon sun. “Nymf.” He says her name breathlessly, a single foreleg tearing at the ground for a moment before he truly settles before her. His blue and ivory tail slashes against his flank as he stretches his neck towards her, wanting to feel the velvet of her muzzle against his own.

svedka

She not only presses the velveteen of her ivory mouth against his own, but lingers long enough to exhale the sweetness of her breath against his cheek, pressing the gentlest of kisses against the strong muscle of his pale gold and white jawline. Hello, Svedka. Unexpected but certainly not unwelcome, her voice and gesture sends electricity fizzling through his spine, a sensation that brings the handsomest of smiles to the palness of his lips. Svedka follows her retreating face with wide, sweeping steps of his own. He would not let her close the space between them and then shy away, because he refuses to give her the chance.

They are now nearly chest to chest, the clear scent of sky and wind and sun on her copper-tinged wings settling into the fluttering of his nostrils. Svedka’s neck curves, strong and sturdy against her willowy and slender form, tracing the white of her neck with his own mouth, peppering her skin in tender kisses. “Hello,” he replies, his voice mumbling into the soft curve of her neck, his breath warm against the frigidity of the coming night wind. 

“How have you been?” He truly does want to know, but he is lost in each gentle curve of her cheek and sloping neck, pressing his mouth onto the soft dip of her pale shoulder. “I hope you’ve been well. If not,” he pauses, another firm kiss planting onto her shoulder, “you’d have to tell me what I could do to change that.”

svedka

Again, she surprises him.

He hadn’t expected his advances to go unwanted, but the gold and white stallion certainly hadn’t expected the shy, dreamy woman to further insist; to command him and open up a doorway that Svedka had not visited in a long while. There is a deep rumble in his chest - soft yet rugged in the way it vibrates in his throat - his breath quivering warmth across her neck, his once tender and wispy touches of his lips now more purposeful and prominent, unhesitant and bold as he traces each white curve of her shoulder and chest, nostrils fluttering wildly. He lifts his head, wanting to see the gentleness of her eyes, and is met with a fervent and passionate kiss - one that he had not been ready for but willingly gives in to, pressing himself against the warmth of her pale mouth with a strength and resiliency that he hopes she has never experienced from a lover.

Svedka had wanted to challenge her and Nymf had steadily rose to the occasion, no longer a gentle and swathing woman in the dying sunlight but the purest picture of primal urges, extending her hand to him for a dance that has long since sung to the test of time. He releases himself from their entanglement, but only so that he can somehow get closer to her, a deep nicker of longing and pleasantness erupting from his parted mouth. He reaches up to draw his mouth across the curve of her pale neck, a hot-blooded kiss pressing into her skin before he gently grabs at her neck, pulling her closer to him with a light pull. “Come here,” rattles his voice, suddenly huskier than it had been moments ago, lost within the scent of her and the softness of her femininity. He steps past her so that they are shoulder against shoulder, his mouth now trailing further down her withers, intermittently nibbling and kissing the supple curve of her spine, his lips met with the velveteen softness of her folded wings.

The depths of twilight begin to shower them, fractiles of dying sunlight painting them a myriad of golden colors. The deep blue of darkness meets the sunset, tiny pinpricks of stars beginning to peek out from behind the veil that the sun once held tightly to them. Fireflies begin to levitate from the golden, swaying grasses, the sound of their wings slightly buzzing as their blinking bodies illuminate the field around the couple.

Svedka hardly notices the natural beauty of the scene, however, for his cerulean eyes never leave the beautiful woman before him.

svedka