Astri’s laugh is bright and genuine, and Djinni smiles again. She does so enjoy emotions, and pleasant ones are all the more desirable. “I’m Djinni,” she says, her name a single smooth syllable that she knows is often hard for other tongues to replicate. Even her mother had never quite managed it, so Djinni is accustomed to adding: “But Jin is probably best.” Best for pronunciation, and best to not rouse her gift-giver from their slumber.
Astri confesses to being always the same color, and Djinni responds by reaching out and touching her dark muzzle to the other mare’s neck. “But a beautiful color,” says the dun mare, “It does suit you.” She does know that not everyone is as fond of touch as she is – she deals with Walter often enough – but she enjoys the warmth of another body and has always found comfort in touch. She is fortunate to be fetching enough to get away with her habits; for a woman with less looks her freedom of caresses might be interpreted far differently. But she is pretty and she does not worry –there will always be someone willing to tolerate her fancies.
Astri asks if she’s here for any reason and Djinni smiles as she shakes her head. “It’s just somewhere to be,” she says, “better than the Field, I think. Too many stallions there, building herds I’ve no interest in joining.” The dun mare shakes her head with a half-hearted sigh, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation at her previous experiences. “And you? What brings you to the Meadow?”