Hawthorn
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Hawthorn cranes his massive head around; he can feel eyes on him but attributes it to the strangeness of the redwoods as they strive to regrow here and regain their own massive right to this land. The stare might raise the hairs on the back of his neck momentarily and cause him to cast a wary look about but there is too much fog to sluice through, too much mystery that still hangs in the air and even a bit of a scent that smells like nothing else on this earth - magic, that is more a tingle in his blood than a scent he can actually smell. So he ignores it.
Perhaps not the wisest course for a stallion but Hawthorn senses no immediate threat from the forest and puffs up the feathers in his wings to appear bigger than whatever is watching him. Then he continues to move amongst those that start to gather which by the looks of it, is not much. So much for his idea of a decent herd. There is slim pickings here as he noses and nips his way through them but there are enough to satisfy his most basic urge as a stallion - to herd. Settled amongst them, only then does he permit himself time to graze, his mouth snatching absentmindedly at the stalks of grass that try to poke up through the dense carpet of pine needle and fallen leaf.
Not much to forage here, he thinks. But his choice has been made. The forest will shelter the herd for the time being until a much more suitable place makes itself available to them. If his fathers could thrive in the harsh grips of the famous Tundra, than he can make these few mares thrive on a few bits of grass tucked in amongst the redwoods. Hawthorn was nothing if not resolute even behind his brooding facade. Then a new scent reaches him, something sweet but tangled up in something dark and Hawthorn throws his head up sharply to hone in on the smell coming to him.
It is a mare. Of course it is! She is lovely to look at even as her ears twitch atop her head and she calls out to him. Hawthorn does not have to go to her because she comes closer and asks him the most ridiculous question he has ever heard a mare ask - to be claimed, by him! Her childlike nature is endearing just the slightest, making him think back to a time when he had known briefly what that was like before it had gone, blown away like bits of dust from an open hand. “Do you know what you ask?” he asks her, certain that she cannot possibly understand what this will mean for her but he moves to oblige her nonetheless.
His mouth cracks open and descends upon her tawny hip. Something in him tries to be gentle with the claiming bite as he delivers it to her skin. “You are mine now, do you understand that?” Hawthorn closes his mouth over the bitten skin, rubbing it with his lips just a little to ease the hurt before his mouth travels up her back to nestle in her mane, as he sucks in a great draught of her scent. She smells off, like something else that he cannot quite pinpoint at the moment but it bothers him little - a lot of them were like nothing they ever seemed to be, why should she be any different? Somehow, she was and he took a step back to eye her now.
still trying to hold the world aloft
@[Anastazja]