Sleepy Fox Hollow pumice

Colosseum gave a soft whicker in response to her gentle touch, his large, dark eyes watching her as she worked the delicate rosebud into his mane. He shifted slightly, a low rumble escaping him—a sound of comfort, contentment even. The stallion lowered his broad head toward her, brushing his velvety muzzle along her withers in acknowledgment.

I was raised by mares, he said simply, his voice steady, carrying the weight of truth without pretense. They taught me the ways of the herd—how to protect, how to lead, but never to take more than what’s freely given.

He paused, tilting his head slightly to catch her gaze. Brutishness doesn’t keep a herd together. Strength and understanding do. His tail swished lazily, his muscles relaxed despite the strength that was evident in his stance.

The rosebud swayed in his mane as he shifted again, his gaze softening. I learned early on that being a stallion isn’t about domination. It’s about care. His tone was warm but measured, as if the thought was one he had long since accepted.

For a moment, he let his gaze wander back to the patch of flowers she had been exploring, a faint smile on his lips. It seems the mares were right. There’s strength in gentleness.