N y x a
He startles her at first. The strange feeling of his nostrils bumping against the lower curve of her thigh causes her to jerk and the youngling laughs at the sensation. His whiskers are invasive, leaving the tingle of a playful itch to settle beneath her golden skin as he draws warm lips along the curve of her buttock. Nyxa doesn’t mind - how could she? Everything is right in the world at this moment and he didn’t mean anything by it, clearly. “You growing a beard, old man?” The filly asks after he’s laughed out an apology.
Her tail skirts aside, flicking out to bat him against the shoulder playfully. The little seamare has nothing to fear from these terrible afflictions known as “the season” - not yet, anyways. She’s too young to be of any use to elder, family-oriented stallions and hovering near the cusp of womanhood, she’s yet to experience that passage of feminine change. No one had ever explained it to her, anyways; for all she knows she’ll just be innocent and untouched forever.
Hod is the only man who's ever held her.
Ah, youth. It blossoms over her features and hints at the idea of future beauty. Hod’s gangly edges from that winter past have rounded into firm cuts of muscle that shape him well and, could he see himself, he’d know exactly how stunning he looked. Beneath the plush curtain of his mane (Nyxa’s favorite spot) he hides a warm resting place, something strong and tangible that she finds herself drowning in whenever the world around them seems too big. Silently, she hopes it never changes - that he’s never drawn away from her by the coy smile of another mare, or the promise of things she has yet to understand.
Naive as she is, Nyxa still understands that someday Hod may grow tired of waiting for her.
“Um, no. I think I would remember that one.” Nyxa laughs, careful to slope their path downhill as the rocky outcropping beside them begins to rise out of the ground. It seems like a hillside now, the rush of a stream somewhere nearby to guide her as they go. With luck, she happens to round a sharp bend and finds the makings of an animal trail for them to follow. Already the trees are beginning to grow close to one another and their journey has turned from straight-forward to a twisted maze.
She’ll take her chances on the old trail. “Did they nibble on you a bit?” The girl chirps, enjoying the rocking sensation of her angular hips beneath the soft caress of Hod’s touch.
Every kiss is a door, Can I knock on yours?
@[Hod]