The still-nameless mare was gone before he had a chance to notice any outward signs of pain - a limp, a pit of cherry showing on her dark coat. If some evidence of his roughness remained, it would be carried outside and allowed to air in peace. Turning from the doorway where she had taken such a hasty exit, Chimalsi was left to examine the furrows their feet had made in the thin coating of dirt over stone, his cloven hooves heavy and biting where hers were light as dance steps. He had clearly been the aggressor, but it heartened him to find that the only blood on the ground was his, dimpling the earth and standing out on smooth surfaces all around him. The feeling was suppressed before it could grace his features, apprehension neatly cementing together any rage still circulating through him. He would need all of it to cope with what came next.
Slowly, the bearded male faced his cherished one, accepting the way that the air grew abruptly charged, falling over him like a cloud fizzing with lightning. Anger was a word used to tame what he felt roiling off of her, similar enough to the time he had come home in a rush that still held traces of another on its periphery, but without any of the desperation. Then, she had wanted to keep him, to hold him close until his madness passed. This was flat, destructive consequence, and he had felt it building as it fed on his diversion, fully expecting him to follow through. He hadn't. The thief had gone, and now it was only him and an impending judgment.
