The freckled clay pot hued stag trotted into the field,head held high while he kept his ears forward and alert. The night sky was littered by a canopy of stars, some twinkling in and out as if determined to further exhaust their glow. The moon cast a smudgy illumination over the many paths, the air was heavy and estrus clung to the soft night breeze. To this Weir shook his head,flaring his nostrils with a whuff reclaiming the sanity the mare smell could cause one to lose. It was maddening, he had hoped to reach a new destination before the breeding season was upon them, and had instead arrived when it had almost ended all together. He had managed thus far to retain his thoughts, as well as correct his course when need be.
His trot slowed as he gained ground, finding himself smack dab in the center of what seemed to be a mass gathering place. A few others could be seen milling about, he avoided gazes as best he could feeling their eyes shift in his direction. He was thankful for the cover the night brought, he could not imagine the displeasure of entering this field in the middle of the day. All the questions, all the stares, mares flicking their tails in attempts to catch the breeze and signal their mates. He shook his head, rust colored mane flowing down his neck like a thick velvet curtain. His amber pools search the dim lit paths that branched out in several directions, he wasn't sure which he should choose and let out his frustration with a grunt.
