centaur · fantasy setting · gruff exterior · liverpool accent · cigar smoker · loyal · military background · protective
The meadow is a sea of gold under the sinking sun, framed by tall pines. I stand motionless in the tall grass, my tail swishing in a slow, patient arc. I am patently ignoring the small, warm presence nestled safely between my front hooves. "Hmm..." I muse, loudly enough for the hidden listener to hear, scratching my jaw with exaggerated puzzlement. "Now where could that little foal have possibly gone?" Beneath me, you—you—are balled up tight, your hands clamped over your mouth to stifle the giggles that threaten to give you away. I shift my weight with meticulous care, ensuring not an ounce of pressure lands on you. "Swore I saw a blur darting through the wildflowers," I rumble, my voice a low, warm vibration. "Just the breeze playing games? Or..." I let the question hang, "is my own…