The dun mare stands at the edge of the field, breathing in the springtime air as the gust of afternoon wind tugs at the long hair of her navy mane. That hair falls thick and waving across her shoulders after the breeze passes, concealing most of the old scars that mar her neck and back. The open plain ahead of her bustles, as the Field often does. She watches as a roan stallion interacts with a paint in the distance, but does not linger long. Instead, she follows the edge of the treeline with her blue-grey eyes, pausing as she comes across a pale mare who appears to be doing much the same as Lepis: watching.

Intrigued, the pegasus observes the younger mare as she emerges from the shadows. The other moves to stand near – but not too near – most of the assembled horses. Not a social butterfly then, Lepis surmises, or perhaps just not comfortable with strangers. Smart, Lepis thinks, and makes her decision. She is here to expand Loess, but she prides herself on being discerning. Loess needs to grow, but how it grows is far more important than the speed at which it does. A tree that grows too quickly is thin and spindly, breaking at the first harsh gust of wind. Better to grow slowly and more solidly, better to appear unassuming while gathering the strength to stand tall.

“Hello,” Lepis says, drawing to a halt a comfortable distance away from the roan mare. She has no wish to crowd the stranger. “Am I right to assume you are here looking for a home?” The dun mare asks, tilting her head curiously. The other mare is not as young as Lepis had first assumed; she is an adult, if a young one. Perhaps the age of Lepis’ eldest daughter, the monarch thinks to herself. “My name is Lepis, and I am Queen of Loess.”

@[Lomasi]

Though the spring afternoon had not been dull, it is certainly enlivened by the arrival of a talkative young foal, whose barrage of questions is as bright as his coloring. The dun mare’s grey eyes remain on the boy who has introduced himself as Mikael, but her ears tell her of the impending arrival of his mother, as does the scent of the approaching roan. The mother cuts off her foal’s chattering with a sharp whistle, and he returns to her side in time just as she comes near enough to speak to Lepis and her roan companion. There was a reason that Lepis had never brought a nursling child to the Field: she is not sure she could have gotten them as quiet as quickly as Tickaani had. Though she does surmise that the boy’s vivacious nature will not be dimmed for very long, especially given the good humor evident in his mother’s voice as she introduces herself before apologizing for his behavior.

“I think my leg’s still attached,” Lepis replies with an amused smile of her own, continuing the jest despite her own normal-length ears. “Better bold than too shy, anyway.” That is her belief at least, and the way that she has raised her own children. She does not mind the chatter, and hopes that Lomasi does not either. She looks back at the roan mare, whose head lowering in respect provides equilibrium to the hardness that appears in Tickaani’s at Lepis’ introduction.

“It’s good to meet you too, Lomasi. Tickaani. Mikael.” As she says each name, her storm blue eyes meet those of the horse, respectful and polite even with softly amused smile that has still not faded from her blue lips. Lomasi asks if she was easy to read, and the lines around Lepis eyes deepen as she shakes her head with a soft chuckle. “We are in the Field,” she tells Lomasi. “Horses here are either looking for a home or looking for someone to offer one to. I’m the latter.” There’s a brief pause as she looks back to Tickaani. “Which are you, Tickaani?”

@[Lomasi]
@[Tickaani]

Watching the roan mare, whose expression softens toward the young foal, Lepis wonders briefly if the woman has children of her own. She looks young herself (though that is no barrier), but feels the question is one for better acquaintances. It is Lepis’ hope that she might ask it of her someday, of course, if the red mare chooses to accept the offer that Lepis has not yet made. When Lomasi turns toward Tickaani, the dun does as well. The Pampas. That explains the familiar scent, one that had pulled at the edge of her mind. She does know the Pampas, and as more than just a territory that she rules.

“The Pampas is a beautiful place,” she tells Lomasi, confirming the tales of wildflowers and butterflies. “I spent time there during the Plague some years back, and the leader there – Noah – is a good friend of mine.” It is good to know that her coppery friend is no longer alone among the brilliant grasslands, Lepis thinks, even if it the company of a herd with members that Lepis does not know. Well, Tickaani seems friendly enough, despite what Lepis suspects might be a less-than-favorable opinion of kingdoms. Or perhaps of Lepis herself; it’s not as though the pegasus has lived an especially quiet life. She is friendly toward Lomasi, at least, and despite how soft-spoken Noah is, Lepis knows that the little mare prefers her home a peaceable place.

“Just one dragon,” she adds with a faint smile, as though the reminder of her wayward uncle is not a difficult one. He has things to answer for, she knows, the least of which is an ill-temper. There is time for that later, the pegasus reminds herself. “Or at least, just one temperamental one.” She speaks one final amendment to the statement, still smiling as though at the thought of the mythical creatures.

“Loess is also a marvelous place, with red rocks and canyons, and every type of greenery you can imagine.” It is the most beautiful place, she does not add, aware of her bias toward the place. It is her birthplace, after all, and the only place she has ever truly felt at home. “Busier than the Pampas too, with opportunities to advance both in diplomacy and defense. Does that sound like something that might interest you, Lomasi? If so, I would be happy to have you join us.”

@[Lomasi]
@[Tickaani]