12-21-2015, 08:24 AM
The cowbird is back; it doesn't stray far though it is wary of the stallion that administers to the painted mare. His teeth chafe the fur in circles, much like her own do to him, and the cowbird hops away to the jut of her hip. Moss doesn't mind the bird, it has been a good companion for quite some time but now the stallion is company enough. In fact, he's the kind of company that she's been missing all this time - she had deluded herself into thinking she could exist comfortably and safely alone, but she is a horse with a herd mentality after all.
She feels him tug on a hank of mane, the action is not bothersome but rather homey. It makes her think of all the times her sire and dam stood like this, heads on each other's backs. Moss is utterly content in these moments with him. She does not think that will come to an end, that it must because life goes on and they can't remain shoulder to shoulder for the rest of their days (however much she'd like to).
The pinto stirs; nips at his shoulder and gives him a questioning look. She wants to know where home is, it can't be this crowded noisy field full of horses. Moss huffs into the pale skin if his neck, delivers a quick teasing nip there and skitters away a few paces as if to say ‘let's go!’