08-26-2016, 07:24 AM
"Yes," he says when she asks if this is their final destination (he's ignored most of the other chatter), "Home."
Despite the winter (which he loathes) the herdland is still pleasant. The high cliffs keep out the worst of the snow and the wind, and the gemstones in the rock face seem to sparkle brighter when covered in ice. Grazing is not plentiful, but it is available, and the three mares in foal have continued to grow rounder.
One such mare approaches, and Njenyi gives a happy whicker in greeting to the cremello mare. He steps closer, brushing his muzzle along her crest affectionately before tapping (very gently) on her swelling barrel where his child grows. He repeats the motion with the palomino, greeting her with affection before turning to Cyril.
The tobiano mare he greets with less overtly saccharine affection, tugging playfully at her black and white mane before repeating the gentle caress of her swelling belly. This, Njenyi knows, is the life he had always wanted. These mares might not be the black and white herd he had envisioned, but they are his.
He steps away again, standing beside the black and brown mare while glancing to the three mares who had come to greet her. He'd introduce her, but he doesn't know her name. Instead he points to the other mares with his dark muzzle, naming each one in turn. "Custard, Cream, Cryil"
Despite the winter (which he loathes) the herdland is still pleasant. The high cliffs keep out the worst of the snow and the wind, and the gemstones in the rock face seem to sparkle brighter when covered in ice. Grazing is not plentiful, but it is available, and the three mares in foal have continued to grow rounder.
One such mare approaches, and Njenyi gives a happy whicker in greeting to the cremello mare. He steps closer, brushing his muzzle along her crest affectionately before tapping (very gently) on her swelling barrel where his child grows. He repeats the motion with the palomino, greeting her with affection before turning to Cyril.
The tobiano mare he greets with less overtly saccharine affection, tugging playfully at her black and white mane before repeating the gentle caress of her swelling belly. This, Njenyi knows, is the life he had always wanted. These mares might not be the black and white herd he had envisioned, but they are his.
He steps away again, standing beside the black and brown mare while glancing to the three mares who had come to greet her. He'd introduce her, but he doesn't know her name. Instead he points to the other mares with his dark muzzle, naming each one in turn. "Custard, Cream, Cryil"