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Sleepy Fox Hollow pumice - Printable Version

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pumice - Selenia - January 17, 2025

it wouldn't be long now. another month, perhaps two. three was stretching it.

two months then. "soon you'll be here," she whispered to the foal turning shanks and elbows into her ribcage.

always exceedingly hungry, she searched for colosseum with her dark eyes before falling to eat, whisking her flanks with a snow-covered tail.



RE: pumice - Colosseum - January 17, 2025

Colosseum’s ears swiveled forward as he caught sight of Selenia. The sharpness of winter hung in the air, but it softened against her presence, her belly rounding with the telltale promise of new life. He moved toward her with clomping steps, large frame commanding but his approach gentle. For her.

Reaching her, he extended his neck, brushing his velvety muzzle against her nape. He breathed her in, catching the mingling scents of mare and foal. A low rumble of acknowledgment escaped him, a sound of greeting and curiosity.

His deep gaze dropped briefly to her belly, noting the subtle movement beneath her skin. Almost there, I'd reckon, he murmured, his voice calm and warm, what was their daddy like? His eyes returned to hers, a flicker of teasing curiosity tempered by genuine interest.


RE: pumice - Selenia - January 17, 2025

colosseum was received with a swing of the tawny ears which no longer pinned in his presence. it was soothing in a way to exchange breath with him, to scent the good greenery on his breath as his velveteen touch moved to her mane.

was it forward of him to ask, or was selenia only used to stallions taking no interest outside of themselves. "he was efficient," she decided at last. "silverbirch was born under his watch."

and this foal would be born under that of colosseum, a cycle continued.



RE: pumice - Colosseum - January 17, 2025

Her answer was steady, her tone resolute, yet there was a weight in her words that tugged at something deep within him. He could not ignore it, nor did he wish to.

He had been raised differently than most stallions—by the wisdom of a cul-de-sac of mares who had taught him not dominance, but respect. Theirs was a way of nurturing strength without cruelty, of leading through steadiness rather than force. It had shaped him into what he was now: a protector, a listener, a quieter kind of presence.

His warm breath brushed against her neck as he leaned closer, offering a gentle nudge of reassurance. Then the foal will grow strong, he murmured, his deep voice carrying a quiet certainty. With you as it's mother, it couldn’t be any other way.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze soft as it lingered on her round belly. And when the time comes, you’ll have me here—for whatever you need.

Then, over his shoulder he beckoned with a chort. There is a patch of flowers, hidden by snow. A filling, delicious sort of greenery— rare, but preserved. For you.