Sleepy Fox Hollow aint nothing in this world for free

though his brother had welcomed him into the herd, wolf knew to take that with a grain of salt. colosseum had grown with an inflated sense of self, he’d quickly taken note—and that seemed to be the trademark downfall of most stallions once they had their claim to fame.
wolf wasn’t too content on ending up the same way, and it’s why he’d never fancied himself a lead stallion, that and the constant bickerin’ of mares he’d be expected to quell. nah, that wasn’t a way of life he was pining after.
let his brother drink his fill of ego-stroking and wolf would be there to fight tooth and hoof for the man—that was what a brother did.
but wolfshelm would save himself the trouble by sticking to the edges, placating himself a soldier on the outskirts, fit to protect the herd from any lurking threats. mountain lions, wolves; they wouldn’t get past the stallion.
his midnight stalking led him in a direction he hadn’t expected, though. lured unconsciously by the scent of a lone mare, draped in heat and gunsmoke. he could only assume it was one of colosseum’s who’d managed to sneak away, and he blew a harsh breath past flaring nostrils as he set course for her.
a slow ample her way, hoofs striking the earth with harsh annoyance. finding her, and giving a snort in her direction. colosseum don’t fancy runaways, miss. wolf warns.