She likes the darkness—more so than others, perhaps, and less than others. There are parts of it that remind her of what has stolen her mother and there is a piece of her that hates it for that. Hates that it is the thing that has ripped her family apart, but Rosebay has never been a particularly sentimental creature and she doesn’t dwell for long on such things. Instead she turns her attention toward the things that scurry within it. The things that breathe forth fear—the things that draw out the dark and creepy things.

Rosebay turns her attention toward them, her face a map of her desires when no one is looking.

The second that she thinks she is being watched though, such things change. When she catches the sound of the palomino nearby, she rearranges her features into something plain and simple. Not the simpering smile that she sometimes practices for the boys she meets to the cruel sneer that she holds when she meets someone so obviously weaker. Instead she remains carefully neutral, forgettable in so many ways.

She angles her path toward the other carefully, casually, flicking an ear forward as she turns around a corner and walks closer toward the other so that the faint light catches the angles of her face just so. “Hello,” she says lightly, even her voice bland as she comes to a stop, her short tail flicking against the edges of her hocks. Her ivory armor has just started to come in now, creeping along the delicate build of her body, down the simple lines of her face, but the rest of her is unremarkable—plain browns and white.

“Not many venture into Pangea during these times,” a statement more than question or accusation.

She pauses, musing, before deciding that she would no longer fill the silence for the other mare.

but in all chaos, there is calculation