The brush fit in his cradling hand, and the movements created a wave in the short fur. He moved it over her shoulder in a pressured arch that moved over her back and then down her haunch. Dust flew, sweat and filth that he hoped to rid her of floated through the air. The roam mare stood in silence, still as if she knew his disappointment. Of course she knew, for she felt it too. The tawny male felt the ache that would touch his worn muscles a day from where he stood, though it felt only like a warm stretch. Heath straitened and moved to her other side, repeating the movements and then gave the girl a pat on her side.
They had lost, and though he was happy for the winner, the male had wanted to know what victory tasted like. Lumière wanted to know as well, but the coy-wolf was pleased with her. He had yet to show it, taking the brush and being far from gentle. Still, he had never ridden as he had and she had never flown as she had. His heart skipped as he thought of it. Dropping the brush in a bucket he moved to face her, a light and a dark hand moving to her nose. Cradling the long face, his gold eyes looked into the dark pools. She was tired, standing in the stall that was hers and ready for rest. "Bien fait ma lumière.", the praise was accepted with a small nod of the roan’s head.
Teeth nibbled at the fur of his arm, accompanied by a high-pitched call. Rolling his eyes the hybrid looked to the horse that stuck his head out from the neighboring stall. A stallion, silver in color and energetic in nature had been left behind while the rest played with their riders and races. “Attendre,” he scolded with a half hearted glare. The silver stallion, Stark, as Heath likes to call him for his lack of pattern and dark hue, only nudged him more. “Plus et je ne vous quitterai ici pour pourrir. He threatened with a frown.