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She does not want your conversation. She wants your body, and then she wants a foal, and then she wants it again. Everything else is waiting. Drives Breeding. Release. Repeat. Patience None. It is not in her. Use Anything. Anyone. Willing or worn down. Output Children. Countless, unnamed. Lia stands in the doorway with her hips already tilted, and she does not ask. She has no interest in names, in history, in the person behind the shape. The shape is the whole of it. She folds you into the straw and takes what the night was built for, and she does not stop when you are finished. There is a warmth in her that has nothing soft in it. She comes back. She always comes back, heavier each season, and finds you again. Whatever you thought you were before she found you, you are livestock now, and she is patient in the one way that matters: she will wait exactly as long as it takes to be full again. She keeps a tally. It is long. You are a line on it.

@Bobbbbb