"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
By the time another mare shows up right when she does, Fiorina is second-guessing whether she wants to be in this group. It is an awful lot of equines, most of them rather plain looking. She cannot remember the last time she stood among so many others and, she’s amazed to find out, she does not like that she’s not the focus of everyone’s attention.
She is by far the most interesting of this group so far.
One, she thinks, seems to agree with her and a lazy smile and wink is given to the dappled stallion before ears catch the chestnut’s question. Restless is a good word for it. “And hungry.” Fiorina replies softly, though it’s whispered more to herself than anyone else.
Her eyes are keen and can see much, but whatever play is being acted out in front of she’s only seeing half of it and so she is confused.
Or perhaps it is just that she’s not paying attention?
Regardless, the winged stallion moves and a small warning snarl escapes from Fiorina out of instinct when his wing draws close. It does not touch, but she thinks for a moment how she would like to sink her canine teeth into it. That bladed tail jerks restlessly behind her - other than that, though, she does not move. She watches, half-hoping that the cause for this little drama will reveal itself and half-hoping that this entire tableau will just fall away and she can move on. Perhaps explore the dappled stallion a little more.
She’s only half listening when the stallion that they’ve gathered around speaks, possibly answering her question? Possibly giving her the answer she approves of? She does vaguely sort of catch the command about making sure the winged mare doesn’t get away and snorts a little. If the mare wanted to run, Fiorina wasn’t going to stop her. She might even help her escape just for the chaos of it all and because half of her brain that is paying attention isn’t sure she likes being commanded.
Fiorina forces herself to focus a little more, like she’s coming awake from a small nap. The two sides of her that are constantly at war tugging her in different directions but underneath the armoured plates of her body, she can feel her skin like it’s humming. She should despise the winged mare for not standing up for herself, not showing strength in the face of this bully,
It’s rather annoying that she doesn’t.
Fiorina shifts where she is standing so that she is closer to the little mare. A small, possibly too-subtle attempt to add a sliver of emotional support. A hunter knows a fellow hunter and so she does not speak the thoughts she wants to - encouraging this fledgling to fly away - because her mind has finally caught up to the threat behind the command that had been given.
Truthfully, she doesn't comprehend her own reasons for this small show of support. Perhaps she is just caving to the part of her that will always crave violence and this action may provide her a path to some bloodshed? She's not giving it much thought even in this very moment.
No words at all come from this monster, her sharp eyes moving between the striped stallion and this Lilliana. Whatever comes next is balanced on her chestnut shoulders.
