The stallion is far more powerful, certainly.

Teeth grazed his shoulder again — a nip, not a bite, but sharp enough to sting. Macius froze.

Among colts, that was the line between play and warning. A stallion’s teeth could follow with blood.

He **** his hooves to stay planted, though every nerve screamed to give ground.

Another shove, harder this time, sent him stumbling a step sideways. The warhorse followed, ears forward, watching.

The muzzle drifted past his shoulder, down his side. Heavy breath traced along his flank, hot against the hide.

Macius clenched, every muscle taut. Among colts, turning your hindquarters was risk — invitation to be struck. He held his stance, rigid, praying the stallion would pass him by.

But the weight of breath moved lower still, nosing along his barrel, toward the haunch. The warhorse’s presence loomed behind, close, crowding, pressing him to stillness.

The breath slid lower, across his flank, toward the base of his tail. Each exhale burned against skin that was... alien.

Macius shut his eyes a moment, fighting the urge to lash out with hooves he barely trusted. He knew that, as a juvenile, he was an open target for a deadly kick. Yet, survival probably depended on his immobility. Surrendering to the stallion's dominance made sense, as the colt was far lesser than the stallion.

The stallion’s head shifted side to side, sniffing, nosing, as though searching for something Macius could not name. A sharp snort followed, loud in the still air, and the weight of the beast edged closer.

Macius’ heart hammered. It felt less like a test of strength now, more like some judgment he could not read.

The muzzle pressed higher, nosing at the root of his tail. A brush, then a firm nudge.

Macius stiffened. A short moment, the stallion lingered there, breathing, probing, as though waiting for a sign Macius could not give.

Another step forward, and the stallion’s chest loomed against his haunches. Hot breath poured over his back, the weight of a wall pressing close.

Macius fought the urge to spring aside. To attempt to flee was to invite ruin. He held, every nerve a taut wire.

The shove came sudden, a heavy flank against his hip. Not savage, but inexorable.

Macius staggered a step, hooves splashing in the shallows. The warhorse pressed again, testing, guiding. Among knights, such a push was a gauntlet cast; for a colt, it was the demand of an alpha.