Sleepy Fox Hollow foolish men

colosseum rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve rattled something loose in his skull.

mares.

the lot of ‘em were fire and thistle this evening, and sundown—sundown, with her sideways sass and golden glint—was starting to test the line between grace and grief.

he stomped his forelimbs into the soft earth, a heavy thud followed by a sharp snort. his ears pinned briefly, tail flicking with a snap.

don’t be gettin’ an attitude now, sundown.

he didn’t bark it. didn’t bite. just said it like a stallion with exactly enough patience left to keep from snapping the next twig in his path.

then, he turned back to selune.

the new one.
she was circling him like she wanted proof. lucky for her, he was nothing but proof—of strength, of form, of flame held tight in the gut.

he didn’t strut, didn’t bow. didn’t need to.

his dominance wasn’t in the parading. it was in how still he stood. how the ground didn’t dare move under him. how his muscles coiled under hide like thunder behind mountains.

let her walk.
let her look.

he let his breath roll slow from his nostrils, like smoke from a fire not yet stoked.

selune.

he tested the name on the inside of his teeth.
yeah. she looked like trouble.
and he was just bored enough to let it come closer.