Sleepy Fox Hollow whistle tones

colosseum chuffed—hot breath rolled from his nostrils against her neck, warm and grounding. her scent clung now to his chest like dust from a hard gallop. familiar. claimed.

his teeth grazed her shoulder again, softer this time. coaxing, not taking. and when her muzzle found his withers, picking gently through the thick mess of winter’s remains, he stilled. let her. accepted her in kind.

she gave herself in the way mares did—not all at once, but in deliberate pieces.

he’d earned a piece today.

but hers wasn’t the only scent here.

he lifted his head, ears twitching, catching the faint stir of hooves somewhere deeper in the vale. fancy.

with a grunt, he nudged sundown’s neck once more—firmer this time—and stepped away. his pace was slow, commanding, meant to be followed.

but if she was to stay, the lead mare would need her scent too.

fancy didn’t share space.
fancy decided who was worth sharing it with.