~ Cassandra's Claim

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bronze sheen across the rolling pastureland, where wind teased the tall grasses into gentle waves. Taylor stood at the edge of the old fence line, her worn boots caked with the dust of days spent among hooves and hay. Her silhouette cut a striking figure; tattoos half-hidden beneath rolled sleeves, silver rings glinting on her fingers, and her dyed blonde hair catching the last of the light in golden streaks. Before her, a scattered band of cobs moved like ghosts through the field, all broad-shouldered, thick-maned, small half-wild things with tangled tails and eyes full of the old magic. The young woman scanned the group slowly, deliberately, her breath held in a kind of reverence - and then she saw HER.

At the far end of the field, standing apart as if she were the axis on which the others turned, stood a mare the color of soft, burnished gold. The light struck her coat in such a way that it seemed to shimmer with a glow from within, and the pale pangaré shading along her muzzle, belly, and flanks lent her an ethereal, almost ancient beauty. Their eyes met across the distance; soft ocean blue to storm-gray, and in that moment, Taylor felt the world shift, quieting to the hush of grass and heartbeat. I need that mare.

The blonde walked slowly, deliberately, thr small brass bell cradled in her palm. It chimed with each careful step, a gentle, lilting sound that drifted through the air like wind over water, and her gaze never left her goal. The pangaré palomino mare stood a little apart, golden coat aglow even in the pale light, the cream-soft shading along her flanks giving her a ghostlike grace. Aristea. Taylor’s heart beat steady and low, and her voice stayed still in her throat; the bell would speak for her. It wasn't about calling or commanding, right? No, it was about offering presence, about offering respect.

Aristea's ears twitched, and her eyes, wide and dark-lashed, followed the sound, curious yet alert. She didn'd bolt - not yet- but her hooves shifted, weight lifting, testing. As Taylor closed the distance by a few more paces, the mare took a step back, and then another. Taylor finally paused as she let the bell dangle freely now, letting it ring its soft music into the hush. She lowered her posture ever so slightly, hands loose, expression open, not coaxing nor begging. Across the silence, Aristea's breath steamed faintly in the cool morning air. The mare blinked slowly, the muscles in her chest relaxing just a fraction. Taylor stood still, now barely a whisper of movement against the backdrop of wind and rustling grass. The bell in her hand had quieted, looped by its leather cord around her fingers as she slowly extended her arm, not forward; but down, relaxed, open. The mare still watched her, nostrils flaring softly, body poised to flee, but she hadn't.

"Easy, girl.", Taylor murmured, her voice low and warm, like smoke curling from a fire, "You're alright. No one's gonna chase you. Not today." Aristea's ears flicked at the sound of her voice. There was a gentleness in it, something that rang clearer than the bell had - something old and instinctive. "You're a smart one, aren't you?", the woman cooed, taking a careful step forward, "I can see it in your eyes. That sharp little storm you carry in there." Aristea blinked, her tension not vanishing, but softening, melting at the edges. Her hooves stayed planted, even as Taylor drew nearer. The mare's breath huffed out, ears tipping forward with cautious curiosity. "That’s it.", the blonde whispered, kneeling now, her body small, her presence steady, "You're not meant to be broken. Just understood."

The blonde reached out, slow as snowfall, and let her hand rest just at the edge of Aristea's shoulder. For a moment, the mare twitched; but then stilled, as if listening to something deep within herself. Taylor ran her fingers through the thick, sun-warmed strands of Aristea's mane, brushing through leaves and burrs with gentle care. Then, carefully, slowly, she lifted the little brass bell and began to braid it in; threading the cord through soft waves of gold, weaving it in like a spell. The bell rested just behind the mare's ear, light as breath, catching the wind with a quiet chime. And finally, the woman smiled. "Would you like to come home with me, pretty girl?"