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09-14-2016, 09:43 AM
Albrecht
There’s a flash of anger, an almost rejection, and then the tension bleeds out of the mares shuddering body as his magic forces its way in and takes hold of her emotional centers. Her words soften and she relents, acquiescent, though whatever inner turmoil she may be experiencing is invisible to the stallions prying eyes.
Truthfully, he doesn’t want to see it. He knows that there must be some part of her inner workings that remains untouchable and immune to his trickery, some small fragment that desperately struggles against him and will haunt her own confused and battered mind later on, but he doesn’t want to see it, and so he doesn’t look that far. When she finally answers him he filters out the hesitation in her voice, hearing only the rasp of her breath and the false affirmative of her words, selectively deaf. The mares eyes close, hooves planted firmly in place, and he moves forward behind her.
There are flashes of disgust, moments where he wonders if her reactions aren’t just a little bit subdued and the reality of the crime he’s committing seeps into his consciousness, but the hum of his blood and the heady brew of his own wants, his selfish needs is strong enough to hide behind and keep the rest at bay.
When he slips from her back, sated and spent, there’s no malice in the gaze that lingers on her dampened flanks, on the tangled locks of her mane. He’s never been a cruel lover, he hasn’t harmed her physically, but whatever satisfaction she might have shown in the moment is an obvious wound to her now, with the hold of his magic loosening and the horror beneath it beginning to show in her wide eyed stare. His ears flatten, as close to an admission of guilt as she’s likely to ever receive, and he snakes his neck forward in a quick grab, coming away with one soft, brown tipped feather between his teeth.
He's not even sure why he takes it, but the small token of their time together stays clamped between his lips as he turns and lopes across the meadow without a word. His only desire now is to collect his companion and find somewhere quiet to think, or perhaps specifically not to think.
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
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