Warspite Claim Attempt

The sun was high, bright and unfiltered, casting golden light across the wide-open fields that rolled like waves beneath the distant blue ridge of the mountains. Taylor wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and pushed through a thick patch of waist-high grass, the stalks whispering around her jeans as her boots crunched on dry earth with each step, and a few bees drifted lazily past, too drunk on wildflowers to mind her presence. She'd been walking for hours, half-expecting to find nothing but the landscape itself, the wide skies, nodding seed heads, and the occasional bird darting low through the breeze. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, but then her eyes landed on the most beautoful creature she'd ever seen. The mare was standing half in shadow beneath a cottonwood tree, just where the slope of the field dipped into a shallow hollow. At first, Taylor could only make out the strong lines of her build; a well-shaped neck, deep chest, compact and powerful haunches. She had that unmistakable Teddy Cob frame: thick-legged, and square.

But then the sunlight shifted, and the mare stepped forward. Taylor stopped breathing. Her coat was like burnished copper dipped in cream, deep liver red where the shadows touched, and a warm dun bay along her shoulders, hips, and face. The tobiano pattern was striking: bold swaths of white slicing across her flanks and barrel, climbing her neck in smooth, clean lines. And on her face, the splash markings framed wide, curious eyes with such perfect symmetry it looked painted. Her mane was a two-tone waterfall of white  and chestnut, slightly tangled but thick and wild, and her tail dragged the ground like a trailing banner. She looked like something from a dream, like a storybook creature... something unreal.

Taylor took a step forwards, her voice caught somewhere in her chest. Then, on instinct, she pursed her lips and gave a soft, melodic whistle, just a few notes, playful and tentative. She hadn't expected anything, but then the mare's ears twitched, and suddenly she lifted her head, and before Taylor knew it, the mare was trotting towards her. The blonde blinked in disbelief, almost backing up from sheer surprise. Wild horses didn't do that. They spooked or they ran, and sometimes they even vanished like ghosts. But this one? She came closer, curious but not skittish, her trot loose and floating, her mane rippling with every step. The sunlight struck her coat like fire on water and each white patch shimmered, clean and radiant, and the darker tones glowed with depth. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes stayed locked on Taylor as the mare stopped, only a few feet away.

They stared at each other across the space between wonder and impossibility and the woman's heart was pounding, not exactly with fear, but with something deeper, something that felt like falling in love. Then, suddenly, Taylor dared to move. Slowly, carefully, she reached into her right jacket pocket. The mare tossed her head, muscles rippling under her strange and beautiful coat, but she didn't back away. Her body was tense, but it wasn't flight-ready; it was more like her curiosity had been piqued. Then, the woman pulled out a carrot, a little bruised, a little limp, probably left over from grooming another horse that morning, but it was still sweet and bright orange. She held it out in her palm, extending her arm but keeping her shoulders relaxed, her big eyes soft. The mare's nostrils flared again before she slowly came forward. Each hoof fell like a question: Can I? Should I? But the answer must have been yes, because a moment later, she was there, right there, close enough that Taylor could see the shimmer of white in her wide, dark eyes, close enough that she could hear the soft exhale from her flared nostrils, could feel the sudden, impossible warmth of trust.

The mare leaned in and snatched the carrot in one bold move, her teeth clicking as she bit through it, her eyes bright with surprise and delight. The woman laughed, breathless. "So that's it, huh?",  she murmured, "Food is the way to your heart. I see." The mare crunched enthusiastically, bits of carrot dropping into the dry grass between them. She licked her lips, then nosed Taylor's hand again with gentle urgency, clearly hoping for more. The blonde held up her empty palms with a grin, "Sorry, gorgeous. Just the one." The mare snorted, pawed at the ground, and gave her a look that was more amused than annoyed. Then, very slowly, she blonde reached into her other pocket. Inside was something she'd carried for weeks now without thinking about it much: a small brass bell. It had once hung from Delicate's mane, and Taylor had tucked it away in the lining of her jacket, half-forgotten until now.

She pulled it free, the golden metal catching the sunlight, and gave it the gentlest shake: it chimed. The mare's ears shot forward, her blue eyes wide. She didn't back away. Instead, she tilted her head, clearly enchanted. "You like that, huh?", Taylor whispered, before stepping closer. She reached up with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she found a thick lock of mane near the mare's crest, and then, carefully, reverently, she wove the strands together, looping and twisting them the way she'd done with her own cobs a thousand times. It wasn't perfect, not tight, but it held, and so she tied the bell in the middle of the strand and stepped back. It swung gently in the breeze and rang once, a sound like clear water and warm brass. The mare blinked, and then she shook her head just slightly, testing the new weight. The bell chimed again, softly. "If you come home with me, I'll give you ten more bells."