He lurked within the shadows, the sparks of madness alive in his eyes.

It was the thrill of the chase that drove him here always; mares were a scarcity and he was eager to have fresh blood within the veins of his beloved desert. Pharaoh was not the stallion he once was; a particular limb he favored and scars littered his body, marring the bloodred sea with burns of slate. Joints cracked as his nimble limbs sprung forwards, tearing from a grove of trees and into sight of this pretty little girl.

"I am." His throat purred in a baritone note, eyes half-lidded and mouth in an amused smile. Sinister, the well-built stallion lumbered closer to her, a mere foot from where she stood. "Pharaoh. King of the Desert. And what name graces my lips, filla?" The husky tone rumbled, hollow eyes scanning her forwards and backwards, up and down. She was fine. The strangest patterns came on her bodice. How delightful to add her to his collection of misfits, which, by the way was narrowed to zero. The war had weeded his harem to zero. How shameful for our god-king.

She was resisting him.

Why was she resisting him?

"I have been bred and born here. As I said, I have crown over the only united kingdom." His mouth painted into a grin, lackluster coat shining stiffly under the morning sun. "And you, my dear. What are you here for?" Purred he, inching closer. The aroma of a mare seemed unmatched to that of blood. They were both so bodily. Reaching out, ignoring her resistance, he aimed to lip her withers. It had been a spring too long without the rush of harmones through his body. One child and one unborn, it was too small of a gene pool. To affirm his existance in Terra, there had to be more. And he refused to share these precious commodities any longer.

The birds did not matter. If he took her withers, he had long released it, although he was close. Close enough to feel her warmth. He seemed to purr. She would be his, forced or otherwise.