Sleepy Fox Hollow hayride

She tilted her head lightly when he spoke of his sire. From the sound of it, Colosseum had been old enough to witness both his father's greatness and his downfall, unlike others who might have been chased off. It was the more secure stallions who seemed to keep their own sons around- a trait that seemed to have been passed from sire to son; Colosseum was as well-grounded as an oak. 

She wondered privately what he made of his position- to defend his herd, until he could defend no more. For all the fights they fought through their life, not many stallions earned themselves a peaceful, quiet retirement. "A stallion's life is his battle, and his battle is life," She quoted an old mare's saying, somewhat ruefully. For some, it was a handsome, fitting thing to die fighting- but she'd known some who might have lived a happier life- and had a better end- if it had not been with such pain. 

By nature, she knew she should expect the same of him- that he would give his all to defend the herd. It seemed cruel to have such expectations for one with such a gentle nature. Reality was a heavy plight. 

Still, there was a glimmer of hope- he knew there was a purpose to his life, and that even little things, like storytelling, were worth it. She could only hope that he would feel inspired enough to stay with them- perhaps she could start telling stories again, if he enjoyed them...She'd start making them up, if it meant he might stay. She needed him to have muscles, to have the strength and cunning to fight off other stallions and predators- but how could they ever find another man who would smile like that, as he spoke of children?

I'm sure you'll- She began, keen to encourage him to tell his own stories, as it seemed to bring out a bit of joy in him. She stopped as soon as he spoke again, and her breath caught for a moment after he fell silent. She gawked at him, mouth slightly ajar, surprised that he'd said something so incredibly cheesy. She exhaled a warm breath, and shook her head, though the flaring of her nostrils and lift of her brow conveyed just how tickled she was to have someone compliment, of all things, her laugh. 

She gave it to him- breathy, surprised. If laughter's what you want, I can laugh all the time, She said, shaking loose another gentle chuckle. Something wistful gleamed in her eyes, though; the knowledge that nothing gold could ever stay. Praise Equus for making you the way you are, Colosseum. She said quietly. There aren't many like you.