No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
The pile grew large as the day grew old. Twenty hunks had been collected- the liver chestnut had been counting their plunder naturally, with silent pride pooling through the vivid hue of observant eyes. The rigidity of his carriage; the uncertainty and private tension surrounding this return had been lessened all the while he worked in the company of the wordless female. While they had never forged a relationship much greater than obligatory pleasantries, Hector found her presence both intriguing and heartening- there was a calmness about her (superficial or not, he saw only the blanket she offered), and it was as contagious as the most persistent winter flu. Like any of his gender would, the stallion appreciated being put to use, and more so because she seemed to him to be so delicate; porcelain like, although each earth tremor mentioned by the touch of her narrow hooves reminded him that not everything was a simple as first impressions often implied.
In good time, Rasta turned from her task and wandered back to where Hector stood admiring the prize. His face, embellished with two bowed ivories and snippets of dusty white was lifted from the pile’s blunt pinnacle and guided upon a lean, brawny neck towards the sound of her muffled step; quiet eyes reflecting with new friendly fondness her company. "We did well." He said pleasantly enough, offering the fleeting hint of a playful smile, before both the echo of his deep voice and the cheer betrayed, fell away. For a moment he paused as though waiting for her response- but as she reached upwards to find the mass of his flexing shoulder with her lips in gratitude, he swayed awkwardly and answered involuntarily for her, "yes..."- perhaps so she wouldn’t feel so compelled to thank him, again.
The lovely creature pitched her slim, dished face then away towards the oasis, and Hector found his wings falling ajar; feathers prickling with anticipation, and he wanted to ask her all at once how their family had fared the wrath of that darkness- the Endless Night, which had seemed at the time to be perpetual, like the end of the world. With lips quivering, barring back the flood of harmless interrogation, his reverent gaze followed the trail of her eyes to where the lush foliage of the oasis rippled beneath the haze of sweltering desert heat. Even while the summer stew had been washed from the land by roused ocean gales, daylight hours still harboured a great intensity that was unique to Dragon’s Throat.
Rasta stepped away and Hector followed obligingly, with enough space borne between so that the radiating warmth from their thin summer hides did not become a burden. With a high body temperature normally, he found quickly that even the small amount of time spent back in these parts wreaked havoc on his hydration- foam had lathered by the points of his body which rubbed, and had sweat doused the rich ginger hue of his hide in a rather dull, grotty brown. He thought idly to himself as they walked; his long strides stiffened to suit her petite-legged pace, that he would quench his rapidly escalating thirst while they were visiting the sanctuary, and then find out (somehow) if she required any further assistance.
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