14
Ovid was a beautiful centaur. While he had been an extremely attractive man, he was an otherworldly attractive centaur. With golden bronze skin, fur that accentuated his toned muscles, and ebony polished hooves that looked like stone, he could easily be mistaken for a statue if he stood still.
His hair was still flipped in a hipster coiffure, but now the little flip seemed more reminiscent of a well styled mane and it matched his Centaur tail, which arched gracefully into the air before falling to the ground with a final curled flip at the tip. His beard had grown thicker and darkened on the edges. His bright, glowing eyes seemed wiser to me than when I had first met him in the hardware store in his human form.
To say I was smitten would be an understatement, but not smitten so much
