[private] we were the first that ever burst into that silent sea

[Lepis]

again you’re gone, off on a different path than mine i'm left behind wondering if i should follow With her wings tucked around her, Lepis’ body is spared the worst of the winter wind. It still tugs at the thick blonde hair that is exposed and makes knots of her navy mane and tail, but the meal she is finishing is worth the discomfort. A few prickly pears, fruiting out of season here in the heat of a salt-spring. They are the pegasus’ favorite, and finding them on this morning stroll had been an unexpected stroke of luck. She is just swallowing the last bite when Oceane speaks, but one dark-rimed ear has been fixed on the approaching creature for some time. Lepis is not an easy creature to sneak up on, though the years have softened her instinct to run from any potential threat. These days she is more likely to turn and face them, which is what she does now. It’s a slow turn, unthreatened, and there is a smile on the mare’s face even before she makes eye contact with the opalescent mare. The colors of her coat are bright, even in the red world of Loess, and Lepis takes a moment to admire them as the other finds shelter beside a boulder. Her own single vanity is the elegant length of her mane and tail, but as they are currently tangled and knotted and blowing every which way, she does not even have them. Instead, her most obvious attribute are the scars along her neck and shoulders. Most are still hidden by her wings, and all have healed – the bare and puckered skin which years ago had ached in the cold are now covered in thick winter hair. Blue hair, like her dorsal stripe and the barring on her ankles, but at least the length obscures the obvious shape of bite and hoof marks. That the other mare knows her is not a surprise – Lepis does enjoy her fame – and her casual mention of Castile is explained by the name she gives. A gust of wind gives her the mare’s scent, and Lepis recognizes it. She had wondered about the woman-who-was-not-Sochi that her uncle had been spending time with, and she understands at seeing Oceane. The mare is lovely, though a quick glance at her wide barrel causes a momentary hesitation. That’s surely not Castile’s child? No, Lepis tells herself, she is projecting. Just because her own husband had chosen to dally with a pretty young diplomat rather than his wife does not mean that all men would. Camaraderie, she summons in herself, choosing the easy way just this once. It’s better to feel naturally, she has recently discovered, but sometimes shortcuts are called for. “It’s good to meet you, Oceane.” The dun mare replies, truthful and warmed by her projected emotion. Its one of her favorites, a more complex weaving that had taken her a decade to shape correctly every time. Lepis does not share it with Oceane, but the other mare benefits from it regardless when the dun mare offers: “I only stopped here for a bite to eat, but I’m afraid I’ve eaten all the fruit and have none to share. But if you’re feeling peckish or just want to get out of the wind, I know where a few more might be growing in a canyon. I’d love for you to join me.” Lepis had gestured north with her muzzle when she spoke of the canyon, and while she doesn’t yet turn toward it, she is clearly waiting for Oceane’s answer before she does. LEPIS i’m the one who sees you home-- but now i’m lost in the woods and i don’t know what path you are on

@[Oceane]