Sleepy Fox Hollow will you sing for me, even when i'm gone?

colosseum’s teeth were buried in a thick patch of grass, sun-warmed and sweet, when he realized she was gone.

he lifted his head slow—stalk still between his molars, ears swiveling back, then forward. the scent of her was faint now, trailing east, brushing the edges of the wind like smoke from a dying fire.

he didn’t like it.

sunset smeared the cliffs in gold and rust, the sky bleeding behind their jagged spines. this was when danger crept, when wolves moved quieter, and stallions without bands came sniffing with bitter mouths.

he chuffed, the grass falling forgotten from his lips, and surged forward—three long strides before his front hooves left the ground entirely.

he reared.

massive and upright, tail flaring behind him, forelegs slicing through the last of the light. a warning to the shadows and the scentless places beyond the ridge.

then he landed, hard.

the earth trembled under his hooves.

he snorted, wheeled on a back foot, and bolted toward the ridge. gravel spat under his weight. her scent grew stronger again, curling along the path she took.

his.