Rolex | Rouge Stallion

Kai, the red roan stud, came thunderin’ 'cross the land like he owned every inch of it. His mane whipped wild in the wind, hooves pounding the dirt, kickin’ up dust with every stride. He wasn’t in any rush, just lettin’ them strong legs stretch out, movin’ easy, feelin’ free.

Then something sharp hit his nose — the thick, heavy scent of other horses. He pulled up fast, slid to a halt, dirt flyin’ all ‘round his legs. Ears flicked, head shot up, eyes darting. His nostrils flared wide, suckin’ in the air like he was tryin’ to read what it had to say. Tail twitched. Body stiff, tight like a bowstring. There was someone out there.

Kai snorted low, pawed the ground once. Maybe warnin’, maybe just thinkin’.

He stood tall on a rise, dry grass crunching beneath his hooves, muscles rippling under that dark red coat, shiny like wet rock in stormlight. His head turned slowly, eyes sweeping the land—one pale blue, like frostbitten sky, the other warm brown, deep like old earth. Them mismatched eyes always made others uneasy — like he saw more than most should.

Wind shifted, and that’s when he caught it — him. The scent of another stallion, close now. Real close.

Then he saw him — a black-and-white figure steppin’ out from above the hill. Kai’s muscles twitched, ears pinned half-back. He lifted his head higher, sucked in the wind again. Yeah… that was the one.

He stomped the dirt hard. Dust curled up around his legs. His neck arched, muscles swelling like ropes under his skin. He didn’t charge, not yet. Just stood there, watchin’, waitin’. Eyes locked. Seeing what the other stud was gonna do.

Kéeta | Herd Mare

Kéeta moved slowly along the riverbank, quiet as a breath. Her head hung low, nose close to the dirt, taking in every scent like it might tell her where to go. The wind kicked up cold, twisting through her thin winter coat, making her skin twitch and a shiver crawl down her sides.

She came to a stop, muzzle droppin’ to the water. Took a long drink, the river like ice slidin’ down her throat. Cold enough to sting. Still, she drank deep, filling her belly before movin’ on.

She’d heard things. Whispers, not from anyone in particular — just the kind that travel on wind and hooves. Talk of a herd bein’ built somewhere out in the valley… maybe a field. She didn’t know for sure. But it didn’t matter none.

What mattered was keepin’ her legs movin’. So she did.

The ground turned rough under her hooves, soft mud giving way to patches of frozen earth and brittle grass. Kéeta moved carefully, picking her steps through the brush. Her ears twitched, turning to every sound — a crow’s cry, the snap of a twig, the hush of wind sliding through bare trees.

She ain’t seen another soul in days.

Her belly growled low, a dull ache she’d grown used to. There wasn’t much to eat this far out, just what little scrub she could find and the memory of greener days. Still, she kept movin’. The sky was turning gray, clouds thick like old wool hanging heavy. Snow wasn’t far behind; she could feel it deep in her bones.

Then she heard it.

Not loud, not clear. But there — faint hoofbeats, carried soft on the wind. Her head snapped up, ears forward, nostrils flaring. She stood still, heart thumping hard in her chest.

A scent drifted to her, fresh and warm — horses.

More than one.

Her legs moved without thinking. Not fast, just steady, sure. Toward the sound, toward the smell, toward what might be real or might be nothin’. But somethin’ in her gut told her to go.

The trees thinned ahead, giving way to open land, low hills, and frost-covered grass.

(Sorry everyone! Been super busy with all the holiday and work!)