He doesn’t look up as she settles beside him, but Djinni doesn’t notice. Her golden gaze is fixed on the moonlight water, watching as the wind ripples the round reflection into silver shards that endlessly reform. She has always been fond of the moon, of its constant presence in the night sky, and she is no different now. She fades without thinking, her whole body turning as pale as the moon in the moment before Stillwater speaks.
He doesn’t answer her questions – had she really thought he would? – but he does speak. Djinni turns her head, looking down at the black stallion with something on her face that’s rather close to exasperation. “I didn’t choose. You offered.” She replies. She hadn’t brought Lior or Bowie to the autumn woods because they hadn’t offered. Stillwater had – even if he is not so ready to admit it – and so Djinni had taken him up. She does not forget favors owed.
The black stallion is quiet again, and Djinni knows that her questions are as likely to be answered as the leaves are to fall from the canopy. Instead, she flicks the water with one silver hoof, watching as the ripples make it out to the center of the pond and bounce away from the winddrawn ones.
“Too calm.” She replies, because at least one of them has to be able to converse like a normal horse. “It’s too quiet here. Too quiet in Beqanna.”
She does not like calm, and she does not like quiet. She liked the sea, with its waves and constant battering of the granite cliffs. She likes change and motion and she does not have either.
slim build
white with white mane and tail
silver eyes