tossed around like seaglass
and you rounded out my edges

She is young but she is well-trained; her parents are always composed and polite (in young Larisa's eyes, at least) and thus far they have taught the painted little lady the most impeccable of manners. If one were to meet her, they would find her as lady-like as the princesses of old. Of course, they don't seem to make princesses like that anymore, but Larisa ("Risa," she'll insist one she considers you a friend, for Larisa is a mouthful that can be confusing and she does not like for others to be confused by her; she is simple, really) would fit the bill if her parents were royalty.

"Mama," she had begged just that morning, "may I please go visit the Playground?" It hadn't taken her mother much to consent to the few hours she was willing to leave her side, and here she was, standing at the edge of the Playground without a single idea of what to do. She is doe-eyed and frightened, but she will not turn tail and return to her dam's side; she is determined to make a friend before Oksana and Makai return to bring her home once the sunlight begins to fade. 

She begins to wander aimlessly, just to get away from the outskirts of the Playground. It only makes sense that the other foals (and yearlings, she tells herself, because they are still young enough to play here as well) would be further inside the area, as opposed to standing nervously along the border like she was. She's safe here, she knows, but she has never been away from her Mama and Papa for any length of time and that in itself makes her nervous. She is not afraid of bullies--she knows she can stand up to them. She cannot explain her nerves but she fights them every step of the way.

The first other foal that she sees is much bigger than her (not very likely a foal, she's probably at least a year older than Larisa) and her coat is a lovely, eye-catching shade of lavender. Larisa is loudly colored as well, sabino on bay, but it is nothing like this pretty girl; she is drawn to the other's color like a moth to a flame. "Excuse me," she says once she is close enough, hoping that she is not bothering the other. "I just wanted to tell you that I find your coat a very lovely color." She swallows hard; this older girl is going to think her strange. "My name is Larisa. Perhaps we could be friends?"

Larisa
makai x oksana

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind.

She is nervous, but he coaxes her from the shadow of the trees and leads her across the meadow. It isn’t like him to lead her this far from the den, in fact, most of the time he told her to stay put; she would keep busy playing with her fox-friends and he would come back at sundown, always. Always. Just like he promised. Today is different, though, because today he has told her she needs to play with children like her—not little foxes and rabbits, not fawns and elk calves. Foals. Foals with big personalities that would probably make her feel awkward and small.

“What if no one likes me?” She lays her ears back, ducking her head.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Her father wonders, looking back at her with eyes much like her own.

Except there’s something in his that speaks volumes of his strength, something that reminds her of the jungle cats in his stories—something wild and fierce. She imagines hers are soft, like sweet golden honey; innocent and doe-like, easily read, betraying her for the coward she often tends to be. He doesn’t shame her when she comes running to him in the middle of the night, shaking, whimpering about a nightmare she’s had; he’s never shamed her, but she imagines the shame he must feel in having a daughter that’s already weaned and still terribly afraid of the dark.

“Well… you know….”

“There is nothing wrong with being afraid, Nyxia.”

“But I’m afraid of everything.”

“Are you afraid of me?” He asks, catching her off guard.

“Of course not, you’re my dad… why would I be afraid of you?” Nyxia blinks.

“Because there are very few things in the whole of Beqanna scarier than me,” he laughs, waiting for her to catch up to him before he continues, softer now, “and I will never let anything bad happen to you.”

**

Nyxia picks her way across The Playground all by her lonesome and not once does she look over her shoulder to see if her father is watching; nope, she’s determined to at least look like she’s holding herself together—if only to please him. He wants her to make friends, he says; it’ll be good for her to get out there and interact with others her own age. Teach her ‘valuable social skills.’ Pah. She doesn’t need social skills, she can easily live alone in the forest with her fox-friends—they’re probably a lot more fun than these silly horses anyways.

Snorting, the lavender girl holds her head a little higher and is just about to find a nice hidden spot in the nearest copse of trees (a nap sounds pretty good right about now) when she’s approached by a smaller girl—a younger girl. The little thing is very polite, which totally throws Nyxia off; she’d been expecting some group of mean, nasty bullies to come along and start trouble. This is a rather welcome surprise “My coat?” She cocks her head, carefully inspecting herself. She’d never thought about it before. Was this not a normal… color? Or was the younger filly just being incredibly nice? “Thank you, I suppose. I think yours is very pretty, too,” she tries to smile, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t… look like a smile.

Probably a forced grimace.

Why did her father make her come here again?

“I-I’m Nyxia,” she nods, mostly to herself; she’d gotten her name out, job well done.

“I would love to be your friend.”

talk some sense to me.