[open] I will never be your hothouse flower - any

[Merida]

Merida

from the ashes, a fire shall be awoken

Merida does not pry. She has never been one to let her curiosity send her into the depths of something she cannot get herself out of (prior experience has quelled that habit). A third eye, though – truly remarkable. Did this woman possess a possible portal into another realm of consciousness? Has she truly seen everything within those blazing pupils? It begs many questions, though Merida is not sure if the mare will divulge if prompted, at least not yet. Merida continues to keep her eye contact with Giohde, holding her gaze strongly yet kindly.

The ebony mare steps forward thoughtlessly as the woman reaches towards her, enamored somewhat by the twinkling eye that bores into her. The painted woman shakes herself and Merida withdraws, bringing her chin near her chest with a soft snort.

Merida has always been cautious with those who are traited (“blessed by the faeries”, she’s sure some would say). She wrinkles her nose slightly at the thought, not at all convinced that the faeries ‘bless’. They give freely, to those who deserve it and to those who do not – it was a sham, giving out such power to whoever asks nicely. It should be earned, not given. Do these horses even know how to defend themselves or live without such frivolities?

However, despite all her thoughts about powers and abilities, her blazing red eyes considers the mare before her and silently decides that if there were to be any magic about her, she most likely would have deserved the faeries’ blessing.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies in agreement, repeating her words with a flick of her tail against her sparkling flank. A place did not matter, while a great deal of many other things did; such as morality, loyalty, devotion, dedication. The list goes on.

“Then who am I, Giohde? Besides Merida of Loess, what do see who I am?”

Maybe her eye is merely a feature, a physicality that makes her unique. That is all Merida has – her striking colors end with just that. Though she feels her spirit boil in her veins, there is no magic accompanying it.