[open] where the spirit meets the bones; anyone

[Andromake]

The filly doesn't notice Andromake, caught as she is in a world of her own making. She is shaky and clearly, frighteningly young. Andromake is, in all honesty, not too many years older in age; but this mare is caught in a small little daydream, startled by the simple presence of Andromake. Her eyes are silver, frightened. Andromake gives a smile, tries to reassure the sweet young thing before her. 

The air is soft and sweet, brushing nostrils like liquor. She could get drunk on the daylight here, but she is much too sensible for such fancies. Especially now, after everything is said and down. Andromake's ears twitch, and she monitors a sense of genuine concern for the elegant creature before her. I'm okay, the mare says, but Andromake swallows down the sense of disbelief. She appears uninjured, the soft coat whole and the eyes healthy. But there's something in the voice, a quiet tremor that Andromake thinks she's heard before. She doesn't push it though, knowing the way of these things. "I don't know, unfortunately. I came from beyond those mountains, and I have no idea of the name of this place." She keeps her gaze and voice gentle. "My name is Andromake. Who are you?" 

Andromake

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