A Golden Touch

[Midas]

If I could be the reason your hair's a mess, The bass drum beatin way down deep in your chest

The golden boy strode proudly into these new lands, white tail flagging behind him like a banner. At first glance he appeared to be of the desert tribes, but upon getting closer you could see the muscularity and height that his mother's Quarter horse breeding had given him. An exquisitely dished face sat top a long swan neck, cupped ears dainty upon his skull. His coat shines like a new penny in the late morning sun, his mane a silken expanse of white that reaches his shoulders. A splash of white marked his belly while four irregular stockings adorned his long slender legs. From afar you might think him a very pretty mare, until you got closer and saw the more stallionesque build. Midas welcomed the heat of summer, his father's Arabian blood making him well suited to the heat. His meandering brought him to a wide field, the grass a verdant carpet beneath his hooves. Nostrils fluttered as he scented the air, the welcome scents of new people filtering into his brain. It was nice to be out of the forest where he had grown up, far away from the island of his birth. He picked a spot under the boughs of an oak tree, leaning against the rough bark. Dark chocolate eyes swept the lush field before him, noting the ladies who were scattered here and there. Perhaps soon he would go and talk to them, but first he needed a home to take them to. He knew a den of evil would not be to his liking, he was too tenderhearted and caring for that. Yes, he could and would fight to the death for those under his protection, but he was no unfeeling monster. Perhaps there were lands of neutrality or goodness here. The last place he'd been had housed only monsters, and it hadn't taken him long to leave. He was too much his father's son to ever be the rapist or abuser that he'd seen some of those men be. More bees were attracted with honey than vinegar is what his father always taught him, and drilled into his skull the attitudes of a gentleman. He saw how happy his father had been with his herd, and how much each of his mares seemed to adore him and the way he treated them. Midas wanted that for himself, and perhaps here he could make that happen.

If I could be the voice on your radio, Then I could be your long ride home.

Midas

♥dante