His impromptu arrival is an inconvenience – still more, a surprise!

Even as the soft carol of his innocence drifts blithely into oblivion, she retaliates with unforeseen (unwarranted), hostility, defensiveness, and he shrinks a little from her stormy circle. The intensity of the reaction however, is fleeting and aggression gives way to something more familiar, relatable; uncertainty.

The bright blue-green eyes that reflect her splendidly elfin presence shine inquisitively, wonderingly, for she looks like nobody he has before come across. The family, their memory, to whom his benevolent heart clings so profoundly, are big and burly beings, splashed golden and white, with cascades of ivory hair both spilling down neck, hock and knee. ‘Beauty’ is not a word that springs to the forefront of his mind as he considers their intrinsic quality quickly; her loveliness however, is astonishing, divine. The fairy before him is a queer trick of light, a sliver of shadow, a delicate illusion that might slip just as readily into the waft of summer’s breeze; he blows a hot breath through dilating nostrils and cream-coloured ears explore the air curiously for hint that she is true. He wishes greatly for her not to vanish, not to ride that doubt riddled through her, away.

Behind him, the strange new wilds hum on busily, but the pitch, it seems, no longer plays with his focus. She exclusively, fills his mind.

There are thistles in her long, mahogany mane, smears of mud caked across narrow, coloured toes - the perfect pasterns above; old, subtle green stains upon pallid legs (the fine hair there is skewed) suggest a turbulent time; the wren has wandered far, he believes, as he touches thoughtfully back to her withered gaze. There is warmth in his veins, tenderness, and concern; his past, though bursting with ambivalence, was constructive enough, moral, and his approach today mirrors that upbringing. It is all in the world he knows. Pale throat rises instinctively once more, positioning the great skull at its end at a good vantage point, and carefully he turns a thorough inspection left, then right. Still they are alone. He returns to her level beneath a crashing wave of off-white forelock, visibly confident, a postural display of certainty that might ease a frail mind; there is nothing to fear - especially now that he is near.

Alas, there is damage beneath her quiet radiance. He observes both the coiled, cautiousness of her stance, and to a greater degree, the pheromone filling each lung. Her dread was bitter, delicious - calling out desperately to the bravado of youth. Beside her petite, porcelain figure, young Noah (barely a stallion) feels all the more virile; he stands taller, wider, and the mass of alabaster feathers flanking, flares impressively.

“Are you alright?” he queries after a time, drawing rich baritone from the depths of his chest. It was natural, automatic, and he drew back nearer as though the company he offered might drive away her demons.