She hadn’t done much since her initial entrance into Loess. There had been a spotted pony that greeted her upon her arrival, as well as another stranger that had emerged into the lands nearly the same time as her. Then of course there were the few weeks that horses from other lands came to explore, but Merida didn’t like that too much so she had kept to the shadows. Since then, there had been nothing but quiet; which was rather nice, but even quiet (especially too much quiet) can become something more sinister. The mare became cautious and uncertain, lingering in the shade and darker parts of Loess as she awaited what always will come: power-hungry and relentless dictators that feed on defenseless and small herds.

Merida was in the shade of one of her favorite trees (a weeping willow) where she mainly spent most of her time when she was in Loess. The branches were thin and delicate, wispy and gentle as they brush against the broad of her onyx back. The tree, though light and moves gingerly in the softest of breezes, was thick enough to hide her within its branches, cascading over her like a bird’s wing over its child. Beneath the willow’s long branches she grazes peacefully, the springtime breeze filtering in through the spindly leaves and twisting through the long, flaming-red tresses of her mane and tail.

Suddenly, the wind shifts slightly and a new, unfamiliar scent drifts to her. She lifts her head, bright sprigs of grass sticking out of her ebony lips as she chews thoughtfully, nostrils flaring inquisitively. The scent was foreign and that immediately put her on edge – she was happy here, living in her own little bubble without having to worry about others entering. Perhaps this is just a passerby, or someone like herself searching for a land where they can live quietly and serenely. Merida snorts, knowing that this was unlikely.

She did like to stay to herself, but she was not one to let a stranger walk through where she was without investigating. She moves forward on lithe limbs, using her muzzle to pull back the drapery of branches from the willow tree and passes through, the sunlight now shining brilliantly against her skin. As the sunlight meets her, the freckled hint of red on her shoulders and hips stand out brilliantly on her ebony coat. Red-hot eyes scan the area and quickly find a mare roosting high on one of the tallest hills. She snorts softly in amusement, but not the kind that is associated with laughter or joy. 

The strong black mare trots choppily towards the golden and indigo mare, her flaming eyes resting passively on the set of pristinely preened feathers that lay at her sides. Merida’s wild and tangled mane sprawls haphazardly over her face and neck, dried dirt from a previous roll in the green grasses tainting her coat. She feels rather serene at the moment, a sort of contentment that fell over her like a warm blanket. Her eyes narrow slightly in curiosity as she comes upon the stranger, just as the other buckskin approaches. She watches him through a gap in the mess of her forelock, a hooded brow shadowing her face. She did not enjoy politics or pleasantries. The lackadaisical stallion says a few words, yawning and mumbling something about Crota being officially no longer living in Loess, then wholeheartedly hands everything to the stranger standing before her. He’s soon gone, lumbering back into the shadows in whence he came, which left Merida to stare apathetically at the winged mare. She stares at her for a moment, as if awaiting something miraculous to come from the golden and indigo mare. The sound of a crow squawking in the distance fills the awkward gap of silence. 

“Queen, hm?”

Merida’s ears flick unreceptively into the tangle of her mane, a disgruntled snort leaving her nostrils. Her voice was effortless and smooth, merely a question with no sense of aggression in it, though Merida is not sure why her voice does not hold the logical distrust she associates with strangers. Monarchs, emperors, sovereigns…it was rubbish. Merida was a simple mare; the titles of queens, kings and royal guards disinterested her. It gave others a sense of entitlement that, though was most likely not intended, was the ambiance Merida was receiving from this mare. 

“Though you were once a princess in Taiga, does not mean you are a queen in Loess. What have you, a mere stranger, done to earn the title you so wish me to call you?”

She lifts her chin slightly, testing the mare, prodding her. Were her intentions pure? Could she be trusted? Would she attempt to earn loyalty or simply assume it would be given freely?