Sleepy Fox Hollow king of the hill

When he came to a stop it wasn't a full stop, but a meandering trot he couldn't shake. Every few steps he'd lurch in a new direction without care to the terrain. If he missed a step he'd make sure to slam a hoof down hard against the soil to compensate or to shatter the shale of the hillside, finding that the feeling of the earth bending to his will was a satisfactory way to ease the anger from his body; it would not rid him of much, though.

Hakai could not shake the images of those stallions from his mind. The voices of the women lamenting his percieved ineptitude, calling him out and laying waste to his ego, infuriated him all over again — so much so that Hakai could not help but break in to a lope with his ears slanted back, his muscled neck taut with the bow of his head as he raced along.

In time he did slow because of the strain in his limbs, the huffing of his lungs. His ribs undulated as he panted and snorted, trying to gather enough breath to off-set the pounding of his heart; he tasted a sour flavor in his throat and knew he had overexerted himself, but he had made good time. They wanted him gone — so gone he would be, for now.

Through the ragged breathing of the stallion and the gradual ebb of his hooves beating against the rocky terrain, he thought he could hear something approaching. It was distant, but piqued his interest; he wondered if someone had come to finish him off and make sure the canyon's lead stallion could rest easy knowing the rogue would not bother them in the future - in thinking this, he grew antsy, nervous, flighty; Hakai pawed at the dirt and fell in to the habit of shifting his head one way or another to observe his surroundings. His kind had wide blind spots, but he would not be caught by surprise.

When a figure finally took shape along the ridge, he stopped. Hakai observed them as they drew closer and recognized the girl for her pale hide — soon after, for her voice. As she spoke his name his ears slanted forwards to listen, but he did not remain attentive for long; too flustered by her very presence. This wasn't just any mare — this was the leader's own flesh and blood, and the herd would no doubt be missing her.

The stallion snorted and shifted away from her, worrying his forelock with the toss of his head. He did not look at her because he did not want to see the face of the leader staring back at him. They are fools. He spat without thinking. Afraid of the world outside of their tiny claim. The agitation swelled within Hakai again, and he found himself errantly stabbing the earth with the sole of one hoof or another, scoring through the grass the way a starving deer might cut through snow. Best he damage the dirt for now and keep his distance, to do her harm would be a waste of opportunity. Afraid of my strength.