With so many present, the conversation gets interrupted many times, but the most pressing one is the grey mare’s sharp, disproving -and wary? Scared wasn’t the word to use with this woman, but it came surprisingly close- tone. What does she know of dragons? ”More than I care to know,” she shrugs honestly, ”Though it certainly differs which one you’re talking about. There’s one or two in the south I would not recommend trying to befriend, but as it happens, my father has no such inklings to randomly burn that I know of. When one dragon burned the Isle, two stood up to defend it.” Really, she is pretty neutral on the subject, and it shows through her body language and tone. ”It’s no different from any other powerful magic - it all depends on the wielder.” As she mentions that, she tilts her head at the grey mare to catch her reaction, pretty certain that there must have been a history there. She withholds for the moment that her daughter spits acidic ice and has uncanny-looking fangs to match, though thankfully the young pink and green overo is not scaled, clawed, or dragon-marked in any other way that Eurwen knows of.
Her attention is snapped to Scorch when the latter tells her Wen never made time for her, which they both know isn’t entirely true. She doesn’t remember the burnt mare making a lot of time to tell such tales either, probably due to the fact that she had other people to bother with her presence; like her mom, Wishbone, and Heartfire. ”I blame my sisters,” she nevertheless claims with a smile on her face - Chryseis and Oisín had always been the wild ones, and Eurwen’s two adventures had been some sort of exception, out of some kind of duty she thought she might have towards the world. Not that she really owed them anything as a foal and yearling; perhaps it was her Amazonian blood speaking, perhaps she had wanted to tell her stories to her sisters to show them she wasn’t really scared like they would usually say.
Nevertheless, it was nearing a decade ago, and the conversation moves forward like a rapid river anyway. ”Rubble? Swamp?” The pink-spotted mare looks over the moors and cliffs, shaking her head slightly at the mares’ words. ”Clearly you haven’t visited in a long time,” she tells her grandmother; she even dares lifting a pebble and casually throwing it to her head; softly, true, but the message is there. ”Nerine has not become a place to sit around and wait for you to come insult her.” she huffs a little, but her dark eyes take a certain shine of playfulness anyway. ”As currently longer-standing diplomat of Nerine I might be inclined to promote and degrade you in the same hour if you keep this up.” she calls only semi-seriously, eyeing Neverwhere once in the process. She doesn’t really think the silver dapple would actually care what they call the land, and neither does she, but she guesses someone should at least attempt to defend Nerine’s honor. Just a tad, anyway. But if she knows the khaleesi as she thinks she does, she would happily let Eurwen degrade her grandmother indeed, just for the idea of it.
@[Neverwhere]
