09-10-2016, 11:22 AM
Isak wasn’t used to other males, did he even count himself as one? It was a hard question to answer, all his life had been spent with mares. He looks at this stallion who smells like familiarity and his nose wrinkles just a little -- there’s something else there. A scene he has rarely ever encountered, musky and lonesome and terribly dark.
The stallion continues on, his description of his homeland makes the bay lift his head. He wonders if he could make it, the cold had consumed nearly everything inside him.
“It sounds nice,” Isak says and his eyes flick cautiously out onto the meadow. The light breeze picks up layers of fresh snow and the flakes skip and dance and tumble until they lay down again.
“Do you know if there will be any mares? I grew up in an all mare herd, on an island.” He says calmly and for a moment his voice comes out small, childish. He can hear it ringing in the notes and the tone. Isak brushes his muzzle against the roughened tree bark, not daring to look at the other stallion.
The stallion continues on, his description of his homeland makes the bay lift his head. He wonders if he could make it, the cold had consumed nearly everything inside him.
“It sounds nice,” Isak says and his eyes flick cautiously out onto the meadow. The light breeze picks up layers of fresh snow and the flakes skip and dance and tumble until they lay down again.
“Do you know if there will be any mares? I grew up in an all mare herd, on an island.” He says calmly and for a moment his voice comes out small, childish. He can hear it ringing in the notes and the tone. Isak brushes his muzzle against the roughened tree bark, not daring to look at the other stallion.