it's a guarantee that he won't forget me.
my body little, my soul heavy.
One could not quite call her forlorn, though her tensed and feminine form is certainly dwarfed by the towering redwoods that still linger. Perhaps she is hesitant. Naia thinks differently: angry and pathetic are her adjectives of choice, those descriptions igniting the fire of self-pity in the pit of her chest. The border is an invisible line taunting her (you don’t belong, you’ll never belong, not here or anywhere). Thick golden hair slaps against the filly’s nape as she shakes her head, a desperate attempt to silence herself. The echoing laughter in her mind is something she might never escape.
Hooves scraping against the soft soil of Tephra interests Naia: perhaps someone to invite her in? Her eyes have the slow drift of an unmotivated individual when she turns to catch the smile of the one approaching. The smallest spark of interest changes her gaze: they mirror each other, gold highlighted by a dark background in their own ways. Certainly just a coincidence, though, for Beqanna has plenty of wild colors running amuck.
Naia flicks her tail against her hocks with a few quick snaps. The name Chryseis sounds familiar, though the filly cannot quite place who would have mentioned her. The desire to ask intrusive questions is creeping up her throat like a determined itch, but she subdues it with a quick swallow and a terse smile. Even the girl’s friendly nature cannot draw out a kinder Naia - especially when it appears she has locked herself into an ongoing conversation.
“I do not live in Tephra - I live in Nerine.”
A short silence follows, Naia flicking her eyes over Chryseis in cool consideration. She may be a little socially inept, but she is not entirely rude; so she offers her name.
“I’m sorry, I’m just looking to take a break from Nerine. My name is Naia. I was hoping to be allowed to explore Tephra.” Her words are silk off of her tongue, no trace of the doubt that poisons her veins and twists her innards. Her eyes leave Chryseis’, tracing the colorful flowers that begin to sprout just a few feet behind the roan woman.
Perhaps I will stay.
@[Chryseis]