Étoile Claim Attempt 1

The Second Ribbon - 979 words

Malibu hadn’t come looking for them. Not this time.

The morning mist hung low along the paths, curling over the frost-crusted wildflowers and licking at the toes of her boots. She’d only meant to walk. To think. To remember.

It had been nearly a year since she’d last tried. A year since she’d braided her heart into a blue ribbon and offered it to a splash little stallion with eyes like brine and rebellion. He hadn’t stayed, none of them did, not right away, but she'd seen him once or twice since then, running free with the others, mane still knotted with blue and gold if you squinted through the sea wind.

The bell had still jingled, at least in her memories.

She had half a mind to call it good, to say her moment had passed and she’d been lucky to have it. But hearts don't work like logic. And Malibu's had never really stopped hoping.

She followed the path, sloping down into the field where the grass grew tall and golden and brittle with the oncoming cold. There, like a dream emerging from the autumn haze, the Teddies waited.

A dozen, maybe more. Their coats dappled with air and the ghost-stains of sunlight, manes tangled with dry burrs and wind. They stood among the reeds like figures from a child's fairytale, all fog colored and half forgotten.

Her breath hitched.

Because he was there.

Smaller than she expected. A little over 12 hands. But breathtaking.

The Lavender Pangare Cremello Tobiano stallion stood just apart from the others, his coat shimmering like pearl dust rubbed into lilac mist. But it was his eyes that stopped her:light blue, rimmed with lashes the color of the sky. 

The stallion watched her closely.

Not wary. Not wild. Not even curious, just quite.

As if he remembered something she hadn't yet said.

Malibu slowly reached into the inside pocket of her jacket. Her fingers closed around a new ribbon, this one braided from soft threads of lavender dyed by hand from old silks. A small golden bell was sewn onto the ribbon. She’d made it two nights ago, working by firelight, heart tight in her chest like a secret waiting to be told.

The stallion flicked an ear.

“I know I missed the summer,” she murmured, voice barely above the hush of the wind. “Didn’t think I’d get another shot.”

The herd shifted behind him, a ripple of motion and warm breath. A few of the younger ones edged closer, snuffling at the air. But he held still. Observing. 

Malibu took a step forward.

Then another.

Every inch between them felt stitched with wire. Any second he could break and be gone, just another glimmer in the fog. But he didn’t move.

He stood.

Like he’d been waiting.

“Alright,” she whispered. “Let’s try this again.”

Her approach was slow, the way you’d coax a dream to stay a little longer after waking. Her boots crunched lightly on the frost. Her breath fogged between them.

At last, she was near enough to see the faint dapples on his shoulder, like snowmelt. His mane, while thick, was hogged resembling the white Spanish mares from Vienna. With a subtle violet tint that caught in the light, like crushed lavender on white linen.

Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the ribbon.

The stallion’s ears flicked forward. His nostrils quivered. The bells gave a soft chime, delicate as wind through crystal.

He didn’t flinch.

Malibu exhaled slowly.

“Okay, sweetheart. Just a braid. Nothing fancy.”

She worked by instinct, fingers careful and slow, separating a section of the tail that was least tangled. The hair was coarse and cold with dew, she tied the ribbon in as she went, anchoring it with firm little ties, letting the bell nestle into the tail.

The stallion shifted once, his breath fogging against her shoulder, but didn’t pull away. The others had turned to watch now, quiet and still. Even the wind held its breath.

“Almost done,” Malibu said softly. “Just need it to last the week, right?”

Because that was the rule. Anyone could approach. Anyone could offer a ribbon. But only those who ‘earned’ it, who made a bond that held through storms and moonrise and the long walk down the cliffs, would get the chance to claim. The ponies would be driven down to the winter stables soon. If the ribbon stayed through then, the stallion was hers.

And if not…

She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

“There,” she breathed, tying off the end in a little knot behind his ear. “You wear it well, Etoilie.”

The bell chimed again.

The stallion shook his head gently, testing the weight of the braid. Then, like he’d decided it was good enough, he turned and pressed his nose lightly to her chest.

Just once.

Malibu’s breath caught.

She rested her palm against his cheek, fingers brushing the fine velvet near his eye. “Thank you,” she said.

And then, just like before, he was gone.

Tossing his head, the little stallion spun and trotted back toward the herd, tail flicking like windblown silk, ribbon trailing like a secret kept just between them. The bells gave chase to his steps, a chorus of lighthearted music dancing across the field.

Malibu watched him go, heart beating with nerves and anticipation.

She didn't follow.

Didn’t need to.

He would either return in a week, braid still bright and bells still singing, or he wouldn’t.

But either way, she had found him.

And he had let her close.

The rest would be up to time and wind and whatever thread of wild magic stitched these Teddies to the land.

She lingered a moment longer, then turned, the sound of bells still clinging to her ears like lullabies.

“See you soon, prince,” she murmured.

And this time, she believed it.