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Do I find it somewhat startlingly, skin-crawling, and disturbing to shift my gaze upwards to find a stallion a full hand taller than me watching me with primitive eyes, painted in rugged earth and bloody hands, antlers curling up from his huge skull, impressively large? Naturally, I do. Immediately my flesh shivers, quivers over my skin, but I do recognize the stallion of my herd, and I do know his ferocious loyalty, even if I have hardly met him myself; I do not think the gooseflesh under my thickening, obsidian coat is solely from the bitter chill of the water piercing me to the bone. Even so, if there is one thing I immediately enjoy under his sharp gaze it is the way he does not speak. No greetings, no polite words, no sentences carefully woven from the cumbersome, hefty talk. It would be nice if most meetings were like this, I muse, as I flick my wings out of the water, and step out on the rough rocks bordering the lake, soon to be overtaken by yellowing grass. I shake myself briskly, as if a dog, sending a cascade of shining water droplets flying through the air, and then I step on. The pebbles massage my feet as I near him, stopping a few feet away from his mass.
I notice a snake in his antlers, looped neatly, and once more I wonder about companions, wondering if I would ever take one, just as I questioned myself when I met my fellow sergeants.
I smile at him, sincerely so, and near Gaucho further, reaching out to his tall dark withers, and I begin to carefully comb at the hair with my teeth, dearly hoping the grand stallion wouldn't take this as some sort of sexual contact, for I certainly don't wish to leap into a stallion trying to mount my backside. Of course, I think it would be easy to give a good kick in the guts, possibly cause internal damage, but he's my comrade, to complicate things if it came to smashing at him if he reared up. For a moment I wonder how frivolous these thoughts are, and I try unsuccessfully to imagine Kri's expression if I were to tell her I accidently led on a herd member, and now I needed a pregnancy leave. To be honest, I... no, I truly cannot imagine what she may say. I have a niggling feeling she would be a touch more than vexed in such a matter. If I were to have a mate? I think she would respect that, but I can't imagine falling in love. Romance seems so, well, fluffy. I am still young, I suppose, only six years of age, turning seven come the warmth of spring.
I arch my neck, angling my body away from the dangerous spiked collar, my teeth roaming along down to his spine, careful to avoid the accidental plucking of any of his long, warm earth feathers. Forget those thoughts, I decide. There would be plenty of time to settle down in the future. For now, I should focus on my duties as a herd member and sergeant.
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[O] soldiers lined up like knives in a cutlery drawer [gaucho]
