Hushed Willows Pacific

Exousia examined him up close; she, the seasoned buyer with an undreamt-of fortune, and he, the prized stallion of an excellent pedigree that spanned generations. Her eyes traveled the length of his trim waist, his strong back, and swimmer’s shoulders. His great-hearted chest, his stonewood fur, and dignified posture. She glanced towards the deep, ultramarine blue of his eyes, calm and focused, filled with an everlasting light.

Njord.

There was stillness. Too much of it. Watching him in this moment, feeling the energy roll off him like heat on desert-baked pavement, her heart began to pound – provoked by his unmistakable virility. That scent, buried deep and nearly lost to his travels, returned to her again. She dared not close her eyes to enjoy it. To inhale him.

That is when she saw the devilish curl of his lip, heard the rev of his growl.

Her body reacted instinctively, flinging herself away from the spot where his paws drummed the earth in a warring song. But rather than flee, she whirled to face him: her teeth bared into a scythe, her forehalf bowed into the position of a spring.

She did not fear him – his flashflood to her vicious windchill – and she was no coward. That being said, a part of her (still claimed by foolish youth) felt hyperaware that this was incredibly dangerous. She should risk no permanent vandalism upon her precious body, for she was alone, and he was not.

Exousia would meet him, toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, teeth-to-teeth, and if he seemed serious about harming her, she would simply fly away.