The season’s heat had brought other warm things into motion, estrus blooming from the mare in invisible, undulating waves that made her all the more delectable than she was even on normal days. The morning had been easy and simple, begun with a bath in the hot springs that left her coat glistening and pristine, her dark hair damp and heavy against her neck as she ventures out of her cave post grooming the knots out of her extensive tail and what remained whole of her mane.

Battle and training took a wear on one’s luscious locks, she had learned; but the bits that had been shorn by the weapons of the Reaper now lay flat with the rest of her mane, albeit short, and her forelock was steadily recovering from her mishaps with the electrical current she was still learning to completely control. It was the cost of power, she figured, to lose ones beauty in exchange, and, either way, it had damaged very little of her that was truly inspiring to poets and painters; her figure remained perfect, long limbed and muscular, a sculpted and lean temptress with broad haunches and a deep chest, golden frame glittering in the late morning light.

Her tail is raised, a banner of conquest to tempt the loitering stags about her home, though she feels little threat even among the barbarians of the mountain; secure in her position, convinced that all will be well for her among her kin, at least for now, and even more trusting her in own abilities, she is quick fearless in this time of natural weakness, a week in which she would susceptible to the softer songs of her heart and the robust vibrancy in souls of the men around her.

And the men would flock. They generally did, anyway, if she bothered to remain around the herd during this delicate, feminine time, and this time… she could be bothered.

She had her eyes set on a certain someone, a stallion who had done more for her in the past months than he needed to, even if she was his Lady. Each time she had called his name, there he had been, a dark beast with wild eyes, his coat so fittingly suited to match alongside her own, both marked in metal as they were. Even if she could not have him this season, she would give him much to think about over the next year of waiting for her to come back around again.

Much more than just a jilted and rather confused mistress watching an awkward genius fleeing her personal quarters, or tall bronze statues to guard their home; she would leave his poor, helpless male mind spinning.

It would be fun, truly; her smile tells everything the world needs to know of how much she looks forward to this game, one she’d refrained from participating in for many years. She had never felt comfortable enough her home, or her skin; she had never had anything to truly back her, aside from the Empress, and one friend was no reason to go about procreating.

Now, she had a kingdom, a mountain brimming with elegant people and powerful magic, a herd to back her should the world come crashing down around her as it had so many times in her life. It was the time for the dreams of a girl to finally die within her; it was time for her to grow, and become wise in ways that only mothers were.

Sweeping to the fore of the herd land at a quick and effortless canter, she lets her scent trail behind her from beneath a lofty, dark tail, journeying to where he always is, working on the sentinel statues or simply staring at them, dreaming whatever dreams men such as himself could have. But, when she arrives, he is gone.

She stands alongside the functional, bronze steed and pouts, depressed at her dismal luck. Of all the times to arrive, she picked the first time in over a month that he had moved from the gateway for any reason other than he had been summoned away by his superiors.

I will die a virgin, she mourns, her face a mask of angst and frustration.

@[Ulrik]