pink is the night; any

[Rhaegor]

I kept my hope just like i'd hoped to
then sang to the sea for feelings deep blue

He, too, likes the sunsets.

They speak volumes, without ever making a sound; lending its viewers an intense sense of knowing, perhaps one of security or maybe one of letting go and breathing in anew. It's what they all seem to do tonight, tucked away in their own corner's of the meadow, watching as the axis of the earth tilts just beyond the last straining fingers of the sun: breathe in anew.

He doesn't notice them until the first shards of moonlight illuminate their shared resting ground. The light, though faint, hits the leopard print markings on the colt's haunches, turning them a radiant blue. His eyes snag on this strange feature for a moment, but the other's are more interesting than genetically enabled colours and markings: his eyes go first to the girl (they always do) and he studies her, as she studies the other stallion. She seems content in the night time, swathe in its comforts and rich in her understanding of her place in the world, for tonight at least.

But the other begs consideration as well, and so the pale yellow stallion obliges, shifting his cool brown gaze to the other male currently decorating the fringes of the meadow. The grown stallion gleams spectacularly in the moonlight, a gold-pink-milk testament to Akhal-Teke blood - with the long, flowing mane of an Andalusian. Despite his usual keenness for beautiful girls, Rhaegor finds himself momentarily entranced by the stallion who seems so at peace with the moonrise, content to be as far away from the others as they are from him.

But he breaks his stare, not as of yet having met either of their eyes. Nostrils flaring, he attempts to catch their scents; but in the same moment, her lowers his head to the sheared grass, lipping absently there as his ears perk and listen for movement from the two other silent nightgoers.

Rhaegor