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[Cryil]

The time between her entrance and when the first glimpse of the brown male seemed achingly long. Cryil stood against the bright sun listening, rotating her head only so.

The russet stallion is only a bit taller than her (which was delightful since most seemed to be smaller). The small curl of her lips drips further over her pout when he moves closer with an extended muzzle. The darkness of her lips meet his before they trace along her spine with a little nip (that makes her jump a bit with a tiny squeal of surprise) and she shoots him a playful glare with the green of her eye. Not much needs to be done to move her along into the Ridge.

They've yet to speak but already the mare was fond of the unusual stallion. He was assertive, direct. She moves along with the sashay of the dual toned hips, scenting for others and looking upon her new home.

C R Y I L

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