04-23-2016, 04:08 AM
His association with the Dale is a thorn in her side, and the source of all her current ire. It smokes and smolders in her, as she eyes him and the plains alternating between the two because she refuses to rest her eyes solely upon him. She tells herself that he is simply not that interesting, but has no reason to argue why she is still here and doesn’t just turn around and go since that would be much easier. She is a glutton for punishment perhaps, or feels the first faint flush of curiosity as to why it is that she does stay when she is no match for the pretty empty-headed things he keeps the company of. Riva is so unlike them, thin and ugly, where they are plump and pretty in a way that is expected but not entirely understood by the paint mare, especially when they throw themselves at him because they’re in heat or they missed him - things Riva doesn’t pretend to understand, because she ignores her own heat and never thinks of breeding, especially not to further her usefulness to the stallion or her status within his herd that she still has not fully consented to joining yet. Riva has no problem with his mares; she does not like them, does not like their closeness to her own self, and thus keeps her distance. It is just that simple. They have such base desires that she lacks and that sets her apart, and thus being aware of said differences, she declines their company and keeps more to herself than ever. Besides, she has the Jungle and plenty of sisters there to provide her with all the things she might miss if she was not around others like her but that’s the point - the Amazons are like her, fierce and independent, and his mares are not. They might appear strong in character and shape, but the paint mare finds them fiercely lacking because of how simplistic they are - they care only for his affections, the position of lead mare in his herd, and who gets to carry his foals, and Riva doesn’t care about those things at all. Plus, there is his affiliation with the Dale that still pokes and pricks her and incites her to no end. But he asks if she would like him to show her around and she bites back another scathing retort that she could easily learn the lay of his land on her own to simply accept with a nod which is not like Riva at all, but she can see the confusion in the set of his black face behind the navy fall of his forelock and maybe that, more than anything, stops her momentarily.
She doesn’t tell him how the Jungle was burned to almost nothing but ash and dust, or that the Jungle is rebuilding itself seed by seed as jungles do when razed to the ground. He seems to heavy with the weight of what-if’s and self-doubt and she does nothing to comfort him or tell him otherwise. War takes a heavy toll on those involved, especially those who fight and Riva knows this, but has nothing to say to take his pain away - that is not her place, let him go into the embrace of some sop-eyed mare who will tell him it’s okay and the world is better for all that he did and has done. He mentions the Dale and her ire rises to the forefront, flaming and fierce, as her brown eyes burn with hate at the mention of it. “Perhaps because nobody sees the Dale as having much importance in matters of diplomacy these days, they seem content to laze about and remain rather quiet.” She knows her words might be untrue but Riva doesn’t care, the paint has reason to hate his kingdom more than he will ever know.
She takes a step away, tail swishing with impatience against her back legs and she cranes her head around to look at him questioningly, “Are you coming or not? I thought you were going to show me your land.” The tovero manages to look rather bossy and imperious given the thin sharp features of her face and the way it pinches together in mock (maybe) annoyance.
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