XOLANI

The sun was sinking lower, nearly gone behind the western horizon.  The pale mare was content beneath the palm trees in the company of her knight in shining (teal) armor; she could not stop a smile from appearing and remaining on her face in his presence.  She tried very hard (and failed) to resist the images of affection that appeared on her coat:  apple blossoms and roses bloomed vaguely, shimmering slightly with the mare's efforts to keep them from showing.  How embarrassing would it be were he able to discern the pictures?  And what if he were somehow about to decipher the meaning behind them?

The blooming flowers became blurs, though they still gleamed yellow joy with a tinge of green trust and orange anticipation.  If the sun were still providing its light and warmth to the land, it might have been easier for Ilios to see the colors shifting on her pelt, but as night fell, it became quite difficult to see more than a vague outline of the mare.  Xolani was relieved; she relaxed completely allowing her guard to fall, for she was much more comfortable conveying her feelings with facial expression and body language.

The gentle touch of feathers along her face fed a growing heat in her belly.  It stretched luxuriously through her body, leaving a tingling line where his touch had been moments before.  A new color of desire leapt unbidden to her hide, curling along the lines of her face where his touch had been mere seconds before, very much like a blush might mantle the cheeks of a human.  It might have been dimly visible as a slight darkening of her face, but even she would not have been capable of discerning a true color under the circumstances of night.

Unaware, Xolani swallowed, lowering her gaze shyly, trying very much to avoid whatever strange feelings the stallion inspired in her.  It was foreign and strange to one so used to being alone.  She focused instead on his words, nodding with another smile in agreement.  She was quite enjoying the Dragon's Throat, particularly when Ilios was around.  Stop that, she told herself firmly.  When her gaze found his again, she noticed that his smile had fallen, his brow furrowed.  She frowned, stepping closer, the only comfort she had to offer being physical closeness.  If he allowed it, she would rest her muzzle on his shoulder, gazing towards his face with wide, tender eyes.  She nodded slightly in response to his question, her maw brushing against his hide.  Was his sudden sobriety a result of some traumatic past?