She lay for a moment, not far from the cottage, her graceful dancer’s legs tucked neatly underneath her petite form. The breeze tickled her forelock as it drifted lazily across her eyesight only to flutter back into place moments later. She plucked a mouthful of grass from the ground beside her, grazing serenely, no doubt under the watchful eye of her bonded.

 

She barely stirred as she felt the displacement of air, a shifting of the wind at her side. A body settled next to hers, their flanks barely touching, yet the closeness just of that one specific body was reassuring, or would normally have been were the mare prone to agitation. Stormy mane intertwined with brilliant violet in the breeze as the two sat in silence, unwilling to break the unspoiled atmosphere with trivial words.

 

The stallion shifted, almost imperceptibly, so that he could carefully lay the side of his face (so as to avoid those unbelievably sharp neck spikes!) onto the elegantly curved planes of her neck. Delicately webbed wings fluttered in a sudden rush of air, and the two Serians glanced up, sharing in the same urge offered by the rush of the wind. They stood in understanding of one another.

 

The mare was the one to break the silence first, understanding that now was the time to talk.

 

“Shall we?” she asked simply, the gentle cadence of her voice barely rising above the singing wind. The stallion smiled in response, a rare event that, no matter how hard he tried seemed forced. She stood steadily as she watched her mate prance about like a foal, dancing in the breeze in anticipation. He stood on his rear legs and whinnied his defiance to the wind, throwing his head back so that his mane streamed out behind him like a banner.

 

With that she began to canter, a smooth, flowing sprint. Mango had learned the subtle art of drawing Tatter out from his blackest moods, a talent that only their bonded shared with her. The stallion caught up with her in mere moments. His pounding hooves threw up clods of dirt as he flew across the meadow as if in an attempt to outrun the elements themselves. Mango extended her stride, her long legs effortlessly keeping pace with his, her movements sinuous and calm, balanced by his which were precarious at best with deep undercurrents of hidden ferocity.

 

It was this, her very nature that had allowed the Lady to form such a deep bond with Mango, despite her previously broken bonds. Her close connection with Tatter had spanned any bridges between them. Mango was the yin to Tatter’s yang, and the connection between the Lady and Mango had come easily and steadily. She loved the Lady as fiercely as she loved her own mate.

 

She glanced behind her quickly, taking in the cottage at dawn. The smoking chimney, the soft yellow lights from within that promised warmth, friendship and family... it was home.