12-26-2015, 12:52 PM
It is not in his nature to abandon; rather, he thinks almost of nipping her haunch and squirreling her away in some small herdland of their own - just the two of them, and the foal in her belly. He knows though (because he can smell it all over her, a mix of cedar and water) that her home is in the Falls and he would never ask her to leave it; he can see the way the place lives in her eyes, bright and moving, like she is, with her pretty pink points. Mandan knows that he must be the one to concede his nature for her sake, to give up the thought of keeping her all to himself because she’s too bright a star to be only his and that he must share her, meaning that he must follow her for all of his days wherever she will go. Maybe he knows what she’ll ask him before she even asks it, he just hopes that he hasn’t inherited his mother’s penchant for disappearing - Ygritte would never forgive him, let alone him being able to forgive himself, but he’s never settled in one place for very long (they almost did, he remembers, Scalped and him, when Finnley asked them to come to the Gates but mother spooked at the idea of belonging somewhere too long and they were gone again) and he’s not sure how well this will work out with his wild unruly nature but he’ll try, for her sake. He can sense her nervousness, can hear it in the breathy agonized loving way she asks him if he’ll come back with her to the Falls. How can he say no to her? He can’t deny her her heart’s desire, not the way she looks at him with all the love in the world in her eyes - that same love looks out of his eyes back at her, deep and abiding, and he nuzzles her cheek gently. “Breathe love,” he tells her, laughing a little as she holds her breath and he realizes that he both hates and loves when she does that. “My answer is yes,” and he seals his fate to her forever, feeling like a little piece of him dies - a bit of that wildness that flashes in every shadowy pit of his strong bay flesh. He bumps her shoulder with his muzzle, ever careful of his long spiraling horns, “Lead the way,” and he follows her to the Falls, without so much as a backward glance at the meadow that has been a constant in his short life - as constant as the pale flank and red scarred breast of his mother, and is it a wonder that he’s fallen for a mare with as much spirit as her? It strikes him then, that for all that Ygritte is different and daring, she does remind him of his mother just the littlest bit and he loves her all the more for that similarity.
The Falls are beautiful, there is no doubt about that though their beauty pales in comparison to his mare’s. He follows the salmon-swish of her tail, fishlike and twitchy and pink as a salmon’s belly, smiling at the silly trail of thoughts in his head as she brings them further into her - their, he supposes - home. The trees are not overcrowded but abundant, thick enough to be considered a forest but he can see gaps that the sky fills in and light shines down through. He spies the pool at the base of the thunderous Falls, listening to the roar of the water like some great mountain-cat purring and rumbling happily over the rocks. It is no doubt beautiful, and he loses himself amongst the trails, learning the lay of the land as Ygritte wanders off to do whatever it is she does here. Maybe she just needs time to herself like he does right now, to be a mare as he is trying to be a stallion, patrolling and making himself familiar with the territory. Eventually though, he hears her calling for him and he plods along as a casual pace because there is no terror or rush in her voice.
Mandan smells her before he sees her, knows she is at the base of the Falls - most likely in the water, but he smells another stallion and he snorts fiercely. What is she doing with another stallion? He cannot help the flood of jealousy that flows through him, quickening his pace until he is loping up the slope to the Falls’ edge and finds her just leaving the water after a swim. Mandan shakes out his head, strands of mane flapping as his addax horns seem sharp and terrifying (so he thinks!); they sprout upwards in two great horns, three twists to their spiraling shape that ends in a sharp point, and he knows they can cause great damage but he thinks not of using them here unless necessary though he is a bit peeved that she had taken up with another stallion so quickly. He supposes it is their way here though, for all that he knows of the Falls, it is very little and he does not know what their ways are. The bay stallion is good at keeping his face carefully neutral, but his eyes spark and flash angrily in their dark animal-gloss, and he is quick to nip at his mate’s shoulder, proclaiming her as his - it was natural, he couldn’t help himself, but her scent calms him, heady and distracting, and he rubs his cheek against her back in a loving gesture, not caring if she’s still damp from her swim.
He tries to be polite for her sake and calls out to the stallion, “Hello.”
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