Sleepy Fox Hollow king of the hill

Hakai was infuriated, aghast at the way he had been treated upon reuniting with his herd. Filled with a justifiable angst that propelled him away from the canyon which had been his home for the past year and on to the narrow slopes of the mountainside as he was driven from them.

How dare they send him away! To think, he had reunited with them to speak of his own grandeur - telling tales of the wolves he spotted in the valley, the toothy beasts which could never catch him, and the herd had the gall to send him packing for it! It wasn't enough that he was the fastest, the strongest — but to face two wolves in combat (which was a small embellishment but, who would know?) and to come away unscathed, he was god-like and --- and the women, they refused him! Hakai was beyond furious for their treatment of him.

The way the men demanded proof.
(Boy, bring us pelts! Teeth! Heads!)

Then the women, speaking out against his technique!
(But if you fought them and won, why is there no blood?)

In the end, his story held no creedence. They drove him off and as Hakai fought against the mountain, he knew he would make them regret it. His smooth strides carried him through the mountain pass at a gallop despite the danger, and as he came down in to the adjoining valley he was huffing and puffing, snorting and stomping, mostly because of his raging emotions rather than the exertion of his body. The stallion careened between the trees and paced along a narrow plateau as he cooled off, brimming with ideas that would bring his opponents to ruin.

No, his treatment was not just - the girl was well aware of that. She had been birthed in that herd, masses of horses of all different ages swarming together so ferociously that it had been difficult to keep track of everyone. Perhaps that's why it made it easier to sneak out and escape the breaches of the herd she had once called home - and it had been, at one point. In all honesty, Alaska wasn't entirely sure when it had turned to feel less like a home and more like a requirement; she longed to run. Run and feel the wind through her mane, her hooves pounding on the ground- oh bother, they would say to her mother who had shielded her from the scrutiny of realistic stares; how is she the lead stallion's daughter? the girl dreams too much! Her mother had died a year prior and her father had not been the same since.

So all eyes turned to her.

And she fled because that's all she was good for, right? The terrain changed dramatically as she fled as quickly as possible - the fewer eyes that had the chance to see her fleeing from her responsibilities, the better. Alaska felt the guilt seep into her heart; was it selfish of her to do this? It was already done. The grass turned to sand, to rocks, to hills before returning to grass again and, for a moment, as the girl followed him, she wondered if he would ever stop. What was she expecting out of this? Following after him like a filly closing the distance to her mother? Ears twisting in anxiety, she snorted loudly as he finally ended his pursuit in fleeing and instead rearing and stamping his hooves like an overgrown foal. 

For a moment she just stared before looking back - miles and miles behind her, her herd roamed. Panicked, no doubt - her father furious, worried. Could that stallion ever be worried? She doubted it. Brown eyes flickered back in front of her as she continued down the cragged path, stones rolling down and undoubtedly giving away her position (if he hadn't already been aware of it before.) "What they did to you was cruel, Hakai." 

Yes, she was aware of his name and his status and his want to be accepted - it had also become apparent to her how messed up Redsand Canyon had turned out to be; but he should not have been exiled, even if he had fibbed. Her empathy that seemed to pass on from her mother to her had always been extremely apparent in situations like these. If wolves and sharp-toothed creatures were around, she could not let him or any other horse for that matter face them alone.

She slowed her trot before finally pausing, uncertainly. 

When he came to a stop it wasn't a full stop, but a meandering trot he couldn't shake. Every few steps he'd lurch in a new direction without care to the terrain. If he missed a step he'd make sure to slam a hoof down hard against the soil to compensate or to shatter the shale of the hillside, finding that the feeling of the earth bending to his will was a satisfactory way to ease the anger from his body; it would not rid him of much, though.

Hakai could not shake the images of those stallions from his mind. The voices of the women lamenting his percieved ineptitude, calling him out and laying waste to his ego, infuriated him all over again — so much so that Hakai could not help but break in to a lope with his ears slanted back, his muscled neck taut with the bow of his head as he raced along.

In time he did slow because of the strain in his limbs, the huffing of his lungs. His ribs undulated as he panted and snorted, trying to gather enough breath to off-set the pounding of his heart; he tasted a sour flavor in his throat and knew he had overexerted himself, but he had made good time. They wanted him gone — so gone he would be, for now.

Through the ragged breathing of the stallion and the gradual ebb of his hooves beating against the rocky terrain, he thought he could hear something approaching. It was distant, but piqued his interest; he wondered if someone had come to finish him off and make sure the canyon's lead stallion could rest easy knowing the rogue would not bother them in the future - in thinking this, he grew antsy, nervous, flighty; Hakai pawed at the dirt and fell in to the habit of shifting his head one way or another to observe his surroundings. His kind had wide blind spots, but he would not be caught by surprise.

When a figure finally took shape along the ridge, he stopped. Hakai observed them as they drew closer and recognized the girl for her pale hide — soon after, for her voice. As she spoke his name his ears slanted forwards to listen, but he did not remain attentive for long; too flustered by her very presence. This wasn't just any mare — this was the leader's own flesh and blood, and the herd would no doubt be missing her.

The stallion snorted and shifted away from her, worrying his forelock with the toss of his head. He did not look at her because he did not want to see the face of the leader staring back at him. They are fools. He spat without thinking. Afraid of the world outside of their tiny claim. The agitation swelled within Hakai again, and he found himself errantly stabbing the earth with the sole of one hoof or another, scoring through the grass the way a starving deer might cut through snow. Best he damage the dirt for now and keep his distance, to do her harm would be a waste of opportunity. Afraid of my strength.

Ah, the testosterone fueled males and their ways. She had been the subject of wooing; the top tier and the mares priority of jealousy for many months now, his actions did not faze her. Alaska pondered on what had him so upset; was it truly because of what the stallions and mares had said to him. Empathy ran through her veins just as much as her father’s blood and yet the alabaster mare couldn’t not remain wary and stay positioned at a respectful distance. 

At his words she remained silent, her thin ears propping forward to catch his words before faltering gently back in indecisiveness. She did not agree with some of his statements, at least not at the very beginning, but perhaps it was because it was too hard to hear the truth from an outsider. 

Was she an outsider now, too?

”Ease yourself,” She insisted. “Continuing on in agitation will lead you nowhere.” Slowly, Alaska continued forward. “Where do you plan on going now?” Despite her mind very well yelling at her to stop moving forward and remain a respective distance, she abided by her own rules now. 

No... no more hiding herself behind walls of uncertainty. 

He thought of the young men of the herd and how easily he could defeat them; he thought of the fat women ripe with progeny — the pale girl's shared blood — and how slowly they would run if he really put his mind to harming them; he paced and throttled the earth, thinking of all these scenarios as if imagination alone was enough to vault him to the top of the social ladder. He knew better. No single land could contain all that Hakai was. It could never hold his father either, the lord of the plains. It was through him that Hakai had learned to trust the wind and become something more than mortal in those fleeting moments of near-flight across the fields; it was Nechako's blood that ran through him now, incised and burning.

Ease yourself— the woman tried to tell him, and he snorted loudly, neck arching and body lunging at an angle so that he could stomp and bray before her, adamant. Where do you plan on going now? She was careful. A thoughtful creature who knew how harsh the plainsrunner could be, perhaps. Or she was accustomed to the rough-natured beasts of the canyon; either way, she kept her distance from him even though she drifted slowly closer, and Hakai kept an eye on her vivid, pale form as if he were trying to discern a shape out of a cloud.

He watched her — still agitated, but no longer so forthright, having tired himself out with his tantrum. Hakai had not yet accepted his lot in life (and likely never would), but he could oblige her some peace. He knew she was right to dissuade him from wasting energy. To her question he tossed his head to the mountains that surrounded them, to the forest that contained them, and said, Anywhere I damn please, as is my right! Somewhere open, somewhere free. Then Hakai leaned in to where she stood, watching her intently - What of you, daughter of the sand? He held no mirth in his voice as he jousted with his words, but it was a joke, a reference to her bloodline that could not be forgotten.