Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
As he walked away, moving items along his shelving units, searching for what ever he needed, it gave Pangaea a moment to relax. Now that his prodding was done those first cuts were soothing to a simple tender pain, nothing substantial or serious. With the cold rocky floor pressed against the hot flesh, she could only assume it had hurt like it had because of the stress and tension of over worked muscles.
Her gaze slowly drifts back to the solidly built healer. Did he not feel any of the stress of travels himself? Surely he must, yet he was venturing out to help her. Determined to see her turn out alright. To heal. It had been a long, long time since anyone had truly cared about her . . . Gareth seemed to be making up for that lost time. In the back of her mind she wondered if Noor had made it through the mountains before the snow fell. Gareth didn't seem worried about it, so she was hopping so . . . But didnt Gareth have anyone else waiting for his return either. She'd deny it, if asked, but she was certain a handsome and considerate man like him had to have a mate back home, watching the trails for his return. She hoped not . . . Purely for the comfort of her having to be stuck in his home while she healed. Nor for any other reason, of course. Just a worry of tension.
She does take the time to demonstrate the range of mobility for her limbs, but at his careful study and thanks, her gaze dropped, carefully using her forelock to obscure her gaze at the reminder of how different she was from these horses. A beastly creature. "Oh, don't mention it. Seemed important for you to know, since you're working on something less than normal." She responds simply, her head dropping back down onto her front limbs.
He settles down next to her leg again, and she silently lifts her tail off the floor, the hefty weight of it shifting up to coil around her hip, before falling down her back and pooling our of the way. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about avoiding tail hair too. He speaks as he organizes the gathered materials in front of him, and her head lifts to give him her attention. Her expression shifts to obvious relief at the mention of the other wounds being more minor, no real trouble, "That is better news than I could have hoped for." She admits.
As he places the herbs into an odd indented rock, she leans in closer to see what he is doing, and is grateful for the explination for what they are meant to do. She shrugs of his concerns of potency, offering him a faint smile, "A little numbing is better than none at all." She had a feeling a little would go a long way with this task.
She doesn't blame him for wanting the ingredients to last either. He looks back up at her, and for a moment, those warm eyes hold her captive in their gaze. Didn't this man know what kind of effect those kinds of looks could have on a mare?! She shrugs off these thoughts with the reminder there is much ahe doesnt know about him (including if he is single), and there were more important things on the line - like her wounds.
She nods her acceptance, expecting the coming agony, though the description of what he was going to have to do only made it sound worse. "Be gentle with me, doc." She tries to tease to obscure her nervousness, before flinching when he began to clear the area of the wound. She swallowed hard, steeling herself for the pain to come. She does snort slightly at his words, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "Not my first run in with something bigger trying to eat Mr. Just the first time the wound has been in such an unfortunte case." The emotion in his eyes does something else to her stomach, the butterflies growing when he comments her strength. She ducks her head shyly. All former playful bravado gone when he looks at her like that. Her muzzle's gone dry, and words allude her before she manages a soft, "Thanks."
Her gaze snaps back to him when he tells her to keep being strong, and to not keep stifling her screams with her wing claws. She sheepishly smiles, "Fine, but if you go deaf because of my screams, remember you asked for it." She pauses, her gaze towards the entrance, before asking quietly, "Screams of pain can attract predators ... I don't want to be the cause of a greater predicament." She explains before her gaze returns to him, "But if you're sure we would be safe here, I'll avoid biting down on my wings." The amount of trust she was offering was hard to get a grip of, but if anything Gareth had shown he would honor that trust, so the mare held her ankle still so he could get to work.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
"Speech" Thoughts
@Gareth Notes:. Awkward phone post.
Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
Now draw me close
The warm playfulness with which she responded to him was a good sign. It meant the herbs were working, that she was beginning to feel better, more comfortable. It pained the medic to know that he was going to break that comfortability, shatter the otherwise pleasant atmosphere they had delicately woven together. She spoke concerns of other predators, and he couldn’t deny that was a concern of his as well. He didn’t want to show it to her, though. The mare had enough troubles on her mind, and she would need all of her strength and attention to keep herself from bolting, so that she could heal, so that they could move on and he could get some actual damn medicine.
If Gareth was to be honest with himself, he was working with scraps, with leftovers. He made it look simple, easy, but inside he was trembling. He was struggling between the need for them to keep moving so that he could care for her properly, and the knowledge that if he pushed her too far, she’d be getting a lifetime of rest if her limbs were destroyed. The blizzard outside would ground them, and part of him was grateful for it. It was as if nature herself knew that rest was the only option, even as his nerves quivered. Over what had been a miniscule tick on the clock, Pangaea had opened up to him, had trusted him to take care of her, had trusted in his knowledge and skill and placed herself at his mercy.
Was she right to do so?
The stallion hoped so. He took a deep breath, looking towards the entrance to the main cavern, quiet for a long moment. “If anything comes,” he said, his gaze returning to hers, rich vocals like thunder and eyes like steel. “I’ll deal with it.”
Then he got to work, smearing the paste around the wound, allowing it to sit while he grabbed another handful of linens, dunking them into the cauldron all at once. He was going to need them. His first point of order was to make sure that the entrance of the injury was free and clear, so that he could coax out any puss that may be hiding, any infected blood, any grit from travel that had embedded itself into her flesh.
He tried to be gentle with her, as much as he could, but there was no helping the sensitivity. It was perhaps one of the worst wounds he’d ever seen, having gone so long without proper treatment, through a battery of survival, his own attack. A pit dropped in his stomach, knowing that some of this damage was his own doing. How much of her pain had been his fault? How much more sorrow had he caused her? He pushed the thoughts away. Noor would have been appalled at how guilty the brute was behaving. How he was nearly dismissive of her actions that led to his intervention.
It hadn’t been her fault, though, not really. Starvation and pain did many cruel things to an animal, regardless of intelligence, personality or any other civil reason. He had come to understand that Pangaea was a bright mare, a fine whit, honourable, stoic if not hardheaded, and a right pleasant person to be around. She was not the ravenous monster that his Bonded had thought she was. That she thought she was, at the behest of a world too wrapped in its own ego to see her brilliance, her strength, her resilience.
For her sake he moved with confidence, swift as he worked to clean her wound; reapplying the numbing paste, what little of it he could. His audits were pinned back against his skull to protect them from any sound that came from her lips. He hunched over her, a protective stance, putting himself between her and the entrance to the main cavern. He didn’t believe that any beast would be out hunting in this weather, but on the chance her cries attracted some nasty piece of work, Gareth would not allow any further harm to come to her.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
There was a rush of dismay at the idea of actually letting another defend her. A creature who had spent all her life in defense it was unsettling, unusual. She protected the others. She did her best to defend her brother until his last moments. Her pack and Rex. The idea of having to rely on another to protect her was so foreign . . . But she also knew she wasn't exactly able to defend herself, especially in a cave that wouldn't allow her the ability to reach altitude. So instead she simply nods, keeping one eye on the entrance to their temporary shelter and allows him to spread the odd paste. She flinched at first before settling as he left it alone to do its job.
Then came the real test of her ability to withstand. His linens hot from water pressed into her flesh, cleaning the entrance of the would. She squeaked and chirped at his workings. The sounds a mixture of avian and something older. She squeezes her eyes shut, but the pain isn't as bad as she was expecting. But she also knew there was more to come. His application of the paste had her tensing, knowing this would be the hard part to follow. When he actually had to clean out the wound. This time she did scream, those odd vocal cords of her mixing a Whinney with a trilling sound, much higher in pitch that she would normally do. But she held strong, refusing to even so much as twitch the limb he was working on. This time tears didn't just well at her eyes, they fell freely as she buried her face into her wings, cradling her head as if that would make the pain worse.
Only once did the trilling sounds she screamed changed, when he would work on the worst inside the wound short bark-like clicks in triplicate leaving her muzzle , a voiceless plea of help to stop the pain. But still she didn't move, refused to stop him working, even as her cries softened back into plaintiff chirps once more as he would begin to finish the last bit of tidying up with the wound.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
"Speech" Thoughts
@Gareth Notes:. Included her responses and screams as he would have kept cleaning and treating so you can have an idea of her reactions to finish up this part of her healing. ^_^
Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
Now draw me close
The screeches that pulled from her lungs stole the breath from the cave. They reverberated, echoing back in a cacophony of pain. No matter how much Gareth flattened his radars against his skull the sound penetrated, piercing, ringing. While her vocalizations were foreign to him, it did not take an expert to understand what they meant. He hardened his heart against the noise, knowing that if he allowed himself to be distracted by her that it would only make the work more difficult.
Slowly, it subsided as he finished clearing the last vestiges of infection from the laceration at her joint. He was fairly confident that he had pulled everything from the wound. It was no small miracle that the Teryr had missed her tendons; if those had been severed they would have been dealing with something else entirely. While he had pulled aside his sewing kit to stitch any loose flesh, he found the wound to be relatively clean once fully revealed. He had expected there to be more tearing, more serration. Fortunately, it seemed that the strike from the beast had been swift, precise. Once the infection was pulled from her limb, only the inflammation remained.
He placed a clean hot linen over the wound, protecting it as he made yet another paste from the bundle of hers he had first brought to her. “I’m going to place these inside,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He knew that if he looked to her before he was finished that part of his resolve would break, and she would not benefit from his softness. Gareth was a healer, but sometimes that meant causing pain and that was something he always found hard to reconcile with. “They should help keep any further infection at bay and help with the tenderness. I’ll want to stitch the wound closed before we leave, but I need the swelling to go down and to know that I’m not trapping any further toxins in there when I do it.”
He slathered the poultice inside the wound, and while he knew that it would sting, there would soon be relief. He tore another strip from the blanket he had been using for bandages and carefully wrapped her limb, trying to be mindful of the way her joints moved. “You’ll need to stay off of it as best you can,” he said. “At least until I can pull your flesh back together. It’ll also prevent you from swelling the wound with overwork." His words were quiet, gentle. He had caused her so much pain, but it had been so that she would not suffer further. So that she would not lose the limb entirely.
The stallion’s chocolate body was slick with sweat, from the heat of the fire and the stress of the procedure as well as the mountain climb. He was exhausted, his hide trembling. Still, there was more work to be done. He needed to fetch them more water for drinking. He knew that with the screaming, Pangaea’s throat would have been raw. She had mentioned not being a true carnivore- perhaps there was something within his stores that would satisfy her.
Shakily, the medic rose to his feet, swaying a moment before steadying himself. “How do you feel about peaches,” he asked, moving over to one of the stone shelves, his steps heavy, dirty feathers dragging on the cave floor.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
It hurt, more than she would ever care to admit, it hurt. Her entire body was shaking from the effort to not wrench herself away from him. Even still her leg as he worked was kept as still as possible. When he spoke of packing something in, she didn't even look up, merely nodded her consent from where her face was buried in the webbing of her wings. He was the doc anyway, and she had trusted him this far. She did appreciate his continued explanations, the why behind his actions. Though she wasn't sure what 'stitching' was. Likely a means of sealing based on his concerns of trapping anything bad
She doesn't have a spare thought to wonder on it further, as she hisses slightly in response to the sting as he worked what ever it was into the wound. As he wrapped the limb her breathing finally turned a little more even, slumping heavily from the exhaustion of holding herself still despite every instinct having told her to get away from the pain.
"Stay off it?" She repeats, her voice a little huskier, a little breathless still, "Sounds like a convenient excuse to make you cater to me." She manages the joke even as she flops her head down onto the rocky floor. His voice remained quiet, gentle and she glances up at him briefly. Instantly concern filled her, seeing his body slick with sweat, trembling. "Gareth. . . Maybe you should take a mo-"
He is already shakily standing, and as he sways, her wing snaps out, helping him steady himself as she slowly rolls herself back up to a sitting position. He almost distracts her with the offer of peaches, but she keeps her eyes firmly on him as he moves, ready to spring up and help steady him should he sway again, "Honestly, I'd probably go through that whole ordeal with my ankle again if the promise of fruit is involved." She admits risking a moment of looking away from him to scan his shelves, "You . . . You really have fruit stored in those jars?" She asks with wide eyes hopefulness, even as she returns her gaze to him, already determined to get him to lay down as soon as she can, "Gareth . . . Please come lay down soon. You need a moment to rest too." She finally asks quietly. More worried about him than hopeful for a bite of fruit.
Gareth was grateful for the assist, giving the mare a gentle smile and a nod of thanks as she readjusted herself. As he moved slowly about the cave he listened to her words, his audits flicking back to catch each lyric. It seemed like fruit would be an excellent choice, then. The stallion stopped at a shelf lined with several jars. From her distance they might have appeared almost a sludgy brown in the firelight. He picked up three of them and started to make his way back to her.
He shook his head. “I can’t rest yet. I have to make sure to bring in enough snow for drinking and to keep your wounds clean. If I stop those things won't get done and we’ll be in right odd sorts. I need to grab the snow now, while it’s still fresh.” The stallion had always been stubborn, and he spoke the truth. These were important things that needed taking care of, and if he slowed now, they would be in trouble come the morning.
As the medic closed the gap between them, the jars started to swim with a more pleasing hue. While still dark, it was amber in colour, the vague shape of some kind of fruit floating around- probably the peaches he had mentioned. Flecks of other ingredients were present as well, perhaps cinnamon, or nutmeg, or some other spice to help with flavour and to keep the jar preserved. He placed the three jars in front of her, stooping his neck so that his muzzle just barely brushed against her shoulder before straightening up again.
“I’ll be back,” he said, turning to the now almost empty cauldron. He was very careful as he moved it about, the iron still holding heat from the flames. It took him nearly twice as long as before to return with more snow, and as he set the full cauldron down by the fire he immediately went to fetch another cauldron, and then another. This took a considerable amount of time, and though his pace was slow, he was steady and never faltered.
Only once a majority of the pots were overflowing with the dense white powder did he finally return to Pangaea’s side, falling to his knees and curling next to her and the warmth of the fire. His breath was short, but not ragged, and returned to normal soon after he made himself comfortable. He was weary, laying his large cranium down upon the soft fur pelt that covered his makeshift bedding.
“How did you like the peaches,” he inquired, his lyrics soft, drowsy. He made no attempt to keep his eyes open any longer, instead choosing to simply listen to her response, his energy finally spent.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
Even with his gentle smile, his nod of thanks, she wasn't reassured. He looked half dead already, utterly exhausted. She knew even before he started started to talk that'd he would deny his obvious need for rest. She couldn't falt him for his desire to have things ready, "Then let me assist, so you're not doing all the hard work yourself." Even as she made the request, she knew he'd shake his head again. Stubborn man.
She looks curiously at the jars as he approaches with them, trying her hardest to obscure the eager delight at fruit during winter. As they were placed in front of her, she is surprised by the brush of his muzzle against her shoulder. Her eyes snap back up to him, but he's already turning away, promising to be right back. Sighing quietly she opens the first jar, tasting the concoction with an eager curiosity. And it's not long before two of the jars are already gone. During the period she still keeps her eyes him as he comes and goes to fetch more snow.
Finally he sets the last one down before collapsing next to her. There is a moment of hesitation before she shifts to briefly press her side against his, a silent gesture of concern before she restraightens to avoid staying too long with in his personal boundaries. "Stubborn stallion." She merely states. Her tone entirely to fond to be mistaken for anything but relief that he's finally resting as well.
At his question on the peaches, she nudges the remaining jar his way, her muzzle briefly brushing against his limb, before retreating, "They looked peculiar, but I'm assuming that was how they kept this late into winter, but they were amazing! I don't even remember the last time I had fruit. Thank you." She replies, her own head soon falling to the ground, feeling a lot better now that her limbs didn't hurt anymore, she was warm and dry, and the sweet taste of peaches still hanging on her tongue, "This jar is for you though, and don't try arguing with me this time, I can be just as stubborn as you. And you've worked yourself into a state." She hesitates, her muzzle caught from where she had unintentionally reached towards him when she'd lifted his head. The desire to brush some of loosened hair from his face having caught her off guard. She quietly shakes her, before pulling it back again, letting him keep his space, even as she curls up with a quiet sigh, eyes turning to focus on the fire, if only to keep her distracted from wanting to touch him again.
The affection with which she spoke brought a smile to the stallion’s features. He was glad to see that the fragile blooms of their friendship had held through the ordeal. She was already feeling better, he knew, by the tones she used. The mare may have been adapted to withstand pain, but it appeared that she genuinely felt at ease. The trust that he had worked to build was stable, at least for the time being. This was no small feat, he knew, and he cherished this victory, warmth blooming in his chest. He was satisfied, as much as a medic could be with his work. His patient was no longer in as much pain, and that was a great joy.
A heavy lid drifted open as Pangaea moved the final jar to him. He lifted his head, opening the container. “I’m glad you liked them,” he said. “I have others. Peaches, berries. They aren’t much, but it should be something.” He nibbled on the fruit quietly, alternating his attention between the fire and the mare at his side.
“If you are concerned about any predators, don’t be.” He had seen her vision shift, assuming it was the instinct to keep watch. “When I was gathering the snow, I saw no tracks. Not that I could see much at all. The winds were howling.” Muscles rippled underneath the stallion’s thick coat at the reminder of the cold just outside the confines of the cave.
He pushed the empty jar to one side, craning his thick neck to check on one of the smaller pots of snow. His weight shifted, his girth pressing lightly to the mare, partially to steady himself and due to their general proximity. “My apologies,” he murmured, situating himself back down, satisfied that they would soon have more fresh water.
“If you need me to move,” he said, “I can.” His audits flicked back, almost embarrassed. “I know I’ve been nothing but intruding upon your space since we met. You’ve been very patient with that, and I’m grateful to have been able to assist you.” The stallion shuffled his hooves nervously, realizing that he may have been crossing the line by becoming too comfortable.
Gareth didn’t want to acknowledge it, but being in this cavern again had stirred thoughts in him, feelings. While he had been preoccupied with his medical work, with preparing them for their stay, he’d had no room to ponder things. Though the memories lingered in the back of his mind, that is where they stayed, spectres just out of sight. Now that he had calmed, his limbs no longer moving, his thoughts began to wander. With the heat of the fire and with the closeness he shared with this mare, his heart started to ache.
The last time these walls had seen a mare had been Salome, all those years ago. When they had both been young, and had not truly known the weight of responsibility. Had not yet known the ways of the world. When he had not known how to voice his true feelings, before he had lost her forever. And yet, somehow, she had returned to him. Twice she had come. He had not shared the whole truth with the saurian mare; Gareth had gathered things over time to bring here, but his implication had left it at years rather than days or weeks. The bedding the stallion had gathered, the bedding which he now shared had once been for his beloved Salome. The canned fruits were a result of his own labor, half as a peace offering and as a show of his affections. She had never come. He’d waited for her, the entire season until the snow finally began to melt. It had been the longest time the stallion had been separated from his bonded companion. Noor had thought him foolish then, just as he had thought him foolish now.
Then, as if by some blessing or curse she had appeared to him again. A ghoul of a woman. Still achingly beautiful, but no longer the Salome he had known in his youth. No longer the mare that he had pined for all those years. She had been twisted by the cruelties of fate, of a world that neither of them could have envisioned. She had sworn to him the secrets of her new life, or half life. And in his loneliness, in his heartache, he had forgiven her. He had finally spoken his love for her, and she had shared that love in return before swiftly vanishing once more.
Salome had left a hole in his heart and in an attempt to heal it he had thrown himself into his work. And in doing so, it had led him back here, to this cavern which held so many memories of both youthful innocence, and tragic heartbreak. At the edges of the firelight danced the shadows of her laughter, her wisdom, her quietness. In the glow of the embers he saw his own anger, his regret and sense of betrayal.
In this intimate moment, in the silence he shared with Pangaea, he imagined what could have been. It drew the heartache into a deafening roar and his gut twisted, hard. In the echoes of memories he felt dwarfed by his loneliness, and in spite of the words he had spoken to her, there was nothing he wanted more than to be closer to her. To run his muzzle across her spine and breathe deeply of her scent. To fill the void he felt within himself and to drown all of his senses in her.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
She was a pack animal who had been alone for far too long. Or that was the excuses she made. It had been years since she was with a pack, when she was snuggle down into Rex's side as the raptors flopped around them. Years since she fell asleep to the soft sounds of pack mates, family surrounding her. Herds had their own relations, their own methods. They stayed close enough to soothe each other in moments of fear, but otherwise they did their own thing, lived their own lives. A pack was so much more. You ran together, slept together, ate together. Surrounded yourself with each other. The scents of pack where like Balm to the weary soul.
That was the only reason she felt so comfortable. Yearned to touch, to feel him at her side. A pack member who has been alone for so long. No other reason at all. Not a one. As he opens container, speaks of other fruit on hand, he's dancing his attention between her and the fire and with each glance it takes herself control to not meet it. To not give into any of these silly, fleeting desires. Maybe she was just grateful for his company and healing! Yes that had to be it. That and her having been alone for so long.
She glances up, her gaze dancing back to him when he mentions she shouldn't worry about predators. She merely smiles, allowing him to think that was what had been working through her mind, "I don't know many predators who prefer to hunt in this weather." She agrees, watching as he moves to peer into one of the pots of water.
He shifts, his body coming in contact with her, her skin suddenly feeling hot from where he'd briefly pressed against her. It was like a rush of warmth runningball the way up to her face, and she's suddenly grateful for the pebbled hide that can hide her blush. His murmured apology is met with a quiet, "It's alright." It wasn't. That light touch has her wanting to lean into his side. To see if he really was that warm, if she'd really fit that well.
Her gaze jumps up at him when he mentions he can move if she needs, and her answer comes quick, "No!" She wines, immediately attempting to back pedal, to save face, to not embarrass herself, "I, I mean it's fine. I don't mind . . . ." She adds her own ear shifting back suddenly, even as she hears his hooves shuffle, so she makes excuses, "I'm a pack mammal, more than a herd mammal. I don't really have boundaries . . ." She adds, wincing again, "I mean, I have boundaries, just not much for personal space, I'm more worried about encroaching on yours and making a fool of myself . . And i wasn't planning on actually saying all of this . . . And now I really am making a fool." She suddenly had the desire to bury her head in the sand and pretend she was invisible
Instead she manages a laugh, "Let me try to explain properly. Pack mammals don't have bubbles of personal space. We take comfort in the closeness of pack members. So i assure you, you're not encroaching on my space. But if I ever forget myself and encroach on yours, just let me know." She stated, pretending like that was the reason she would occasionally touch him when talking. And it had nothing to do with those damn butterflies she didn't remember eating. She just had to remind herself. He was a friend, her doctor. That didn't make him pack, and she needed to keep her hands to herself .
Even if she really wanted to curl into his side, body her face against his neck and inhale that boyish and earthy scent that was all his own. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of their two heart beats, and his breath from beside her. Wanted to feel his touch again, the way it burned across her hide. Wanted to get lost in this eyes -.
No, she was just a pack mammal that was alone, and grateful for the help. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.
The sharp, nearly panicked response tore the stallion from his spiraling thoughts. His audits pricked towards the mare, his entire being alert to her words. She stumbles over herself, and it’s only then that he realizes that he may have accidentally offended her, or caused some measure of distress. His misunderstandings of her featherlight touches, her wish filled glances. The stallion had been applying his herd rules to her being, and those rules did not apply. The friendliness with which he had casually interacted with her meant something else entirely. His stomach roiled as he tried to pick apart her meanings, going over each of their interactions in his head.
The mare said she hadn’t minded his touch, seemed to almost crave it, in fact. But was that true? Was her need for the contact as she said, a pack mammal who did not know how else to be? Was her loneliness eating away at her insides in the same way that his had hollowed out his bones? Her laugh was nervous as she attempted to explain again, this time with more clarity.
She was worried about encroaching upon him. Startled by the revelation, Gareth boomed a hearty laugh, the sound reverberating throughout the cave. “As the man who had been rooting around inside your joints, I think it’s safe to say that you aren’t encroaching upon my space.”
The fire crackled and popped, a log splitting and sending a shower of embers into the air. Radiant motes of light reflected in the stallion’s brandy eyes as he watched the mare intently, the orange glow softening the cream splash that dominated his facial features into a golden honey. His heart had been aching, and it was as if her lyrics spoke the permission he so desperately sought.
Brazenly, he reached out to bury his muzzle in her mane, the cream locks curling around his nares as he breathed deeply her scent. His lungs began to fill with her, and his limbs trembled, though no longer from exhaustion. He crooned, rolling her heady perfume over his tongue.
Pangaea tasted like the heat of summer, warm rains pounding against rich earth. She tasted of canyons and desert sands, a blend of warrior musk that promised strength and nobility. Curled deeper to her skin there were notes of delicate blooms, wild and exotic. Deeper still there sang a chorus of honey and the thrum of ancient blood far more distinguished than any creature yet to walk the lands of Novus. Hers was the scent of ages, of creation’s greatest riches held close like the oaths sworn by the oldest of gods.
He desperately wanted to fall into her, to be consumed by her scent and made whole by it. The stallion shifted his girth so that his chest pressed against her, his heart pounding a steady rhythm as his lips moved further down the froth of her crest, coming to a stop at the top of her spine to drink deeply once again.
His vocals rumbled low and husky, his lips pressed to the delicate flesh between her shoulder blades. “Allow me to comfort you, then.”
