“Oh good,” Djinni says ,reaching out to companionably tap Arivanya on the shoulder. She knows – surely she knows – that not everyone has a nonexistent area of personal space like she does, but she often forgets, or simply decides that she doesn’t care. The other spotted mare seems a nice sort, and Djinni smiles down at her with such ease that it is clear she is nearly always smiling.
“Ari,” she says aloud, “Ari. I like that. It’s a pretty name. ” Again she taps the other mare on the nose with her own brown muzzle, “Pretty like you.” She smiles again, open and easy, accepting the compliment about her ability with a shrug. It is something she has always had; something she has never lost, and so she is unable to fully appreciate it the way that others can. She might have said something more, but she is distracted by the approach of a stallion.
He is nearly as large as her own draft form, and the cobalt blue of his mane and tail are quite lovely. Djinni controls the urge to shift herself to match him (though it is a hard battle), and instead turns to him with a nod. He’s very polite, introducing himself and asking after them, which Djinni finds rather darling - especially in the current season.
“Just socializing,” she replies, “I saw Ari here, and I find her spots quite fetching, don’t you?” She pauses a moment, waiting for Phaedrus to acknowledge that yes, Arivanya’s spots are quite lovely, and then adds: “I’m Djinni, by the way.”