The scent of the sea is barely more than a memory on her bicolored coat; she is saturated daily with the crisp and vibrant scent of autumn that is ever-present in Sylva. The rest of the new Beqanna matches the little forest kingdom now, but as Djinni looks up at the canopy, she enjoys knowing that even when winter comes, they will remain the same.

She has been looking for Marlyn for some time now, but assumes she is busy with the tasks of running a kingdom, and is now taking her time to learn relearn the layout of the kingdom.

The inhabitants are not so scare as she had though they might be, but Djinni supposes that it makes sense. The Wildcat King and his Pink Queen had seemed the type to foster a land of familial ties rather than blind loyalty and servitude. There are always those in Beqanna that have longed for such a quiet existence, and it seems only fitting that they would settle in a land that itself never changed.  

Her breath huffs from her black muzzle in small clouds of steam, the weather chilly but not yet cold. It keeps the sweat from gathering excessively as she canters through the woods, her black mane and tail streaming behind her. Despite not existing a year ago, the trees here are old and thick, a marvel of magic that even Djinni cannot quiet fathom. She stops at last beside a broad creek, her feathered hooves cracking the thinnest ice that lingers at the edge when she lowers her head to drink.

This body takes so much more water (and food) than she is accustomed to, but she has adjusted. It is strange to come about without the comforting jingle of her rings and bracelets, but she tells herself that she is doing this to help, and that is enough for now.

She swallows one last sip of water, and shakes the dark mane from her eyes and looks around at the forest: Raene in every sense.

She watches the stallion as he watches the trees, her gold-flecked eyes curious and unconcerned. Raene had been trained by her father in the ways of a warrior; there is no horse she fears. Djinni is much the same, with her trickery she is never truly in danger, so the smile that she wears is as open and easy as Raene’s would be.

“Hello,” she says, nodding her head politely in greeting. “I’m Raene.”

The name has come to her easily for weeks now; this is not the first time Djinni has adopted an alter ego. She usually chooses her own name, though she supposes that Kreios and Ygritte did well enough when choosing Raene. The name that he gives – Rome – is unfamiliar. It seems that he is unfamiliar to Raene as well, since he’s introduced himself, so there’s no need to worry over the proper reaction to an old friend (or enemy). There’s something feline in his movements, and she wonders if perhaps this is a brother that she did not know Raene had. No, she decides, Marlyn would have mentioned another brother.

“What brings you to Sylva, Rome?” She tilts her head curiously. His champagne coat is eye-catching, and with a brief shimmer, Raene sports a matching one on her bulky body. She still wears her spots, of course, and the salmon of her mane and tail. “Do you mind?” She asks, drumming up a brief flash of embarrassment. Djinni would mimic without a though; perhaps Raene would ask first.