Something was off. It was the middle of winter, dammit. Who was setting things on fire, and how on earth was it still burning amidst the packed, wet snow and ice? Never one to leave things alone, Iset picked her way though the white blanketed underbrush in search of the source of these strange flames. 

At the heart of the smokey air was a boy. About her age, but quite a bit larger; obvious even from his prone position on the ground. She cocked her narrow head in curiosity before drawing back behind the cover of the trees, desperately eating up every minute and specific movement the boy made. He hadn’t yet seen her; of this she was sure. The heavy cloud of smoke surrounding him was just enough to mask her presence and disguise her scent as a mere abnormality of the flame.

As she watched, a tendril of fire slowly emerged from the scattering of the leaves and grass that had settled beneath their hooves long before the snow had fallen. He seemed to be…controlling it somehow. She though back to Brennen and Ryan and even Amet with their ‘traits’ as they called them. 

This must be another one.

And it was pretty damn awesome. 

What appeared to be brown eyes (though she cannot see well enough through the haze to be sure) sharpen in a focus she had never seen matched in anyone or anything before, especially in someone so young. Slowly and cautiously, the strip of heat curves in on itself, rolling into a tight ball and seeming to gain confidence along with size. It rose higher and higher, now well over both of their heads. 

Cautious eyes flew back to the colt lying in the brush, and Iset began to worry. If the fiery orb was given permission to lick at the trees as it was so striving for, would she be able to get out in time? She couldn’t leave Sakir again. It simply wasn’t an option. At this same time however, she was frozen in place, a stiff contradiction to the ball of flames that were writhing an changing above her. 

Before she could open her mouth and tell the boy that enough was enough, that he was going to hurt someone, he commanded the tongues of flame to come crashing down around them, sending the water that had saturated the leaves and twigs into a frenzy of steam, trying their best to escape the heat. 

By the time the cloud of vapor had cleared, she saw that he was on his feet, and was even bulkier and taller than she had previously estimated. His breathing was labored and a groan fell from his lips, evidence of the feat it had been to have instructed the flames as he did. 

Having had quite enough of staying quiet and polite, Iset drew herself up to her full height and went crashing as ungracefully as she possibly could through the noisy undergrowth. “You know,” she began, a sort of no-nonsense bossiness accompanied by threads of wonder coming through in her tone, “I know a boy who can turn into a panther. And he can change colors,” she states matter of factly, thinking once more to Ryan. “And one stallion I know has wings. Big black ones,” she informs.

After a beat, her curiosity overcomes her once more and she speaks again before waiting for him to respond to her previous statements. “Do you control it completely? It looks like it got a little out of hand there for a while,” unaffected by her own rudeness, Iset simply watches the boy, awaiting his response to her prying questions.  

The pride that she feels at having concealed herself for so long, especially from one so focused, unfurls and spirals deep in her belly, and Iset doesn’t even attempt to hide the smile that begins to curl on her lips. She watches him as she speaks, noting every little movement his eyes make as they travel over her body-eyes that, she could now see were split in color, one being a dark brown and the other a blood red. He stays silent for a while before dropping his head, lowering more to her level and reducing the gap between them while still leaving some space. 

His voice is full and husky, much different than any other colt she had yet heard speak. Slim ears pricked forward in curiosity and her eyes narrowed at the switch she saw in his eyes. This boy was mean, and if he wanted to play? Oh, she could play. 

She scoffed lightly and rolled her eyes at his pompous words, “You may want to be careful,” she mockingly warns him, “Even cats have claws,” she knows instantly that the downfall of this horse would be his ultimate underestimation of someone he perceived to be smaller, weaker than him.  

Before she knew it, the light that had seemed to die down in the foliage below them rose again, flying slowly towards her. Though every instinct in her body told her to run, lest she get burned, the stubborn filly refused to waver and kept her flashing golden eyes on his, fighting the urge to watch in awe as the flames culminated above her head. She can feel the heat bouncing off of the top of her head, but again she doesn’t flinch. She had had much practice of this sort of thing in the Dunes; holding eye contact with Him, until he finally realized that he would not break her that day and he would turn and leave them be. For a while, at least. 

He speaks again then, questioning what it is that makes her special, what she can do. The question catches her momentarily off guard, but she hides it well and her momentary lapse does not make it to her eyes. The heat touching her brow suddenly recedes, and though she wants nothing more to follow and track it with her eyes, she is determined to win this staring contest. The warmth reappears then, the flames now licking at her sides. 

She smirks at his haughty question, “For one, my name is Iset. Not filly. Secondly, I, unlike yourself, don’t need to hide behind fire, or anything else for that matter. That is what makes me special,” she drops her voice to a whisper, as though her words will sink in better the quieter she speaks them, “I, unlike some, am not a coward. Tell me this, without your fire, what makes you special?” she demands, throwing his question back at him with a sarcastic grin resting her face. 

She takes a step toward him, closing the remainder of the small distance between them, before Iset raises her head and brings the pair eye to eye. 

She considers him briefly, just as he was doing to her. He takes his time speaking, choosing his words carefully and annunciating clearly, though he refrained from injecting much of any sort of tone into his low voice. She cocks her shiny head at his words, recruiting her best impression of him when she spoke again. 

“And you shouldn’t assume every stranger you meet in the woods to be defenseless if they are trait-less,” a smirk touches her dry lips, “I may not win, but I’d bet I could give you a run for your money.” She may be temperamental, but she wasn’t stupid-this horse, though close to her own age, had at least six or seven inches on her, not to mention the fire. But he could rest assured she wouldn’t go down easily.

His eyes follow her as she comes closer, though the emotion inside them is hidden well. At his silence in response to her question, Iset perks up slightly and smirks, considering it a win for her even if he would think it to be the opposite. If she had at least stumped him, she could walk away knowing that their combative interaction had been at least somewhat successful on her end. 

He questions her again, and she rolls her eyes openly at his rude words, “No,” she bit out, her quick  temper and trademark acidic tone wrapping around her words as her voice becomes low and mocking of his, “I was traipsing through the forest to try and figure out who was stupid enough to be setting it on fire,” she gives him a brief once over, “But I guess that answers that question.”

His eyes grow darker but she refused to step away or turn her back on him; it simply was not in her nature. 

Before long, their standoff was reprieved by the arrival of another young mare. However, in sharp contrast to Iset’s sharp metallic coat, this girl was blue, and quite a bit more so than even the waters of the Lake.

The Lake…she hadn’t thought about it since she had fled after her argument with Amet, but she missed her home, and she missed her brother. The longing shaped itself into a bitterness that was injected into her tone as she addresses the other mare, “Could you try not to be so bossy?” she questions rhetorically, ignoring the new girl’s first words. Her golden eyes roll in her head again, this time of their own accord, “Such a freakin’ goody-two-shoes,” she mumbles under her breath in response to her comments about the fairies. 

Obviously, she was not immune to the power of the fairies; from what she had heard from whispers carried on the wind, the fairies had quite a bit of power over Beqanna itself, as well as it’s residents. But were they going to get angry and intervene over a controlled (or so he claimed) fire and a tense conversation (if one could even call it that)?

Doubtful.

She shoots a narrow glare at the blue girl, but keeps most of her focus on the splotchy stallion in front of her, still not trusting him as far as she could throw him.

And by the looks of him, she wouldn't be able to get him far.