Djinni (who had been raised by a mother with coloring more like a deer than a horse, alongside a brother with a turquoise and white mane, and with her own penchant for changing shape, size, and hue) doesn't find the running mare's coloring odd in the slightest. Pretty, yes, and most certainly unique even here in Beqanna; it is the other mare's antics that catch her eye.

Djinni had never tried to outrun a bird. Outfly, yes, but she'd never try something that she wasn't Almaty certain of winning. She likes that the red and white mare tries though, and admires her speed.

She briefly debates simply watching from a distance, a bit curious to see the kind of crowd that the runner would draw. But she has nowhere to go today, and nothing to do. There are no children waiting for her, no doe-eyed boy (or girl) pining in her absence. Why should she not make some time for conversation?

With a shake of her flaxen mane, Djinni steps down from the snowy hill and trots down a well-worn path toward the pinto mare. She gathers a few admiring stares of her own as she goes, and while she pretends to not notice, she certainly does. Today she is her own natural size and shape (lean, mostly Arabian, and small) but with a chestnut coat so bright it is nearly copper and a mane and tail as pale as flax. Her earrings and bracelets remain – as always – and they jangle merrily as she approaches the other mare.

“Hello there,” she says with an easy smile. “My condolences on your loss. I thought for sure you’d beat him.” With a light chuckle, she gestures up into the air where the bird has disappeared. “I’m Djinni, by the way. What’s your name?”

The chestnut mare has never in her life been greeted by anything less than good-natured surprise, and so the wary way that the brindle mare responds is, for a moment, offputting. Instinct tells her to do the same, to step away, to keep herself from whatever danger the unknown mare may threaten. But Djinni has had most of her instinct bred out of her by generations of ancestors that lived within the safe boundaries of kingdoms rather than in wild herds, so instead of eyeing Raxa back, Djinni just stops her perhaps overly-friendly approach, and keeps a comfortable distance from the roan mare.

She does not need the warning snort, but she heeds in anyway, taking a single step back in case that was something else the stranger wanted. Djinni is too friendly, but she has never been accused of being rude.

Though she sees Raxa’s eyes linger on her accessories, Djinni doesn’t comment, having decided that perhaps it is best to let up on her attempt at friendship. Not everyone is here for friendship, after all, she reminds herself; some of them are here for vastly different reasons, and she mustn’t assume.

“I’m sure you will,” She replies, trusting that the mare will, eventually, outrun the bird. To Djinni, who has never bothered to exert herself for a moment, the idea is ludicrous, but she imagines that the brindle mare must have something of an iron will.

“It’s nice to meet you, Raxa.” Djinni replies, falling back on the niceties she had learned as a foal at her mother’s side. Princesses are polite, Aseret had said, Princesses do not make others uncomfortable. “What brings you to the Field today? Are you new to Beqanna?” to many question, perhaps, a little nosey, even. It has been a long time since Djinni was at her mother’s side though, and time has a way of changing manners.

“Oh!” she says, eyes widening in surprise, “Oh right. Duh. Sorry.” Djinni is so accustomed to others knowing the names of Beqanna’s lands that she’d not bothered to remember that Raxa – who is so new – would probably not be as familiar with them. She is going to explain herself when Raxa asks what else is out in Beqanna, and the chestnut mare seizes her chance to elaborate.

“Well, we’re obviously in the Field,” she says aloud, turning a bit to orient herself with the mountains so that she can be more sure of her directions. “Directly around us is what we call the Common Grounds: the meadow, forest, challenge grounds, and a playground for the foals.” She does her best to point in the proper directions with her red nose. “Due north is the Tudnra, where the bachelor stallion kingdom.” Raxa hadn’t known what a kingdom was, she remembers, and Djinni interrupts her own geography lesson. “A kingdom is like a big herd, I guess. There’s usually an army and some diplomats, and a king or queen, or sometimes both. ”

“Way in the south is the Amazons jungle. It’s an all-female kingdom, and I hear it stays really warm year round. The Desert, where I grew up, is another kingdom. It’s farther southwest. The Chamber is due east of here, way up in those mountains. ” Djinni gestures towards the snow-capped mountains. “There are four other kingdoms – the Gates, the Falls, the Valley, and the Dale. There are also lots of herd lands, and they’re under general rule of the nearest kingdom, but as far as I know kingdoms tend to ignore them for the most part. ”

Djinni knows that she’s probably overloaded the other mare with information, so she’s content to stand in silence for a while as the other mare processes it all. In fact, her attention has started to drift toward the horizon when Raxa snorts and rears up. The sudden movement startles Djinni, who takes several steps back and eyes Raxa with something akin to concern. It seems the idea of a bachelor kingdom has irritated the brindle roan mare, and while Djinni does agree (and shows it with an agreeable nod) she’s not quiete sure it’s worth fussing over. The cold is what deters her from that kingdom, not the gender of the inhabitants.

She gives Raxa more time to think, and this time when the other mare speaks up, Djinni is not surprised. Raxa asks a personal question –the first of their conversation – and Djinni wonders if perhaps this means that they might be friends. Djinni does love friends, but their initial interactions had given her the idea that perhaps they’d started off on the wrong hoof.

“My parents left the kingdom when I was still a child.” She says, “They left Beqanna and I went with them for a while.” To the Otherlands, to the world outside Beqanna, but she doesn’t feel the need to name it. “Now that I’m back, the Desert doesn’t feel like home without them. I’m still looking for somewhere to belong.” She knows where she’d like to be – happy in a herd with Walter – but the palomino stallion has never been the kind to tell Djinni what she wants to hear, and so she’s taking charge of her own destiny. She’ll live in the Chamber, or the Meadow, or perhaps leave Beqanna entirely, but the choice is still hers to make.

“Why didn’t you stick around your home?”