Zephyr walked lowly for a while, watching the horses milling about as he walked, he could smell several mares in season, some close, in the herd, some further away, possibly wandering, or in another herd, but his thirst was much more pressing and after a few minutes he found what he was looking for, a cool brook, just shallow enough for him to reach down for a few good, long gulps.
Martian herself had been in season six weeks ago while they were travelling, it had attracted the attention of many wandering males, but Martian was bad tempered with strangers, and many left with a tattoo beaten into his chest with Martian's hoofmarks as a lasting reminder of their fall from pride, or chunks of coat missing at the hands of Martian, or rather, the teeth.
Currently, the elegant mare lay, at peace with the world, asleep under the shade of a large shrub, nose tucked by her foreleg, and her tail swishing occasionally to ward off the flies.
'Call me a Philistine but I can't see the justification in the 'Petrification As Art' business.'
'Art justifies everything.'
'Uh, no, it doesn't, one-nil to me. Next?'
Doctor Who, The Stone Rose