[open] i hope you'd come to the funeral [anyone]

[Starlin]

This Beqanna is the only one that Starlin has ever known. The tales of the old kingdoms, of the plethora of herdlands, of the days when most horses were naturally colored and without gifts. That is all they are to her, tales, stories that the older generations tell. She knows of his Chamber – mother has told her stories – but doesn’t know to seek the scent of old pine and sweeping cliffs on his piebald coat. The smells might still linger; Beqanna seems to have left some of her residents in a limbo of time and space. Perhaps to him the world of old was only a moment ago, but to Starlin, it was her entire lifetime.

The stallion is handsome, with curious yellow eyes that remind Starlin of the eagles that she has seen only the cliffs. He is monochrome like them too, with stark patches of black and white. No grey though, she muses as she takes a few steps forward to bridge the space between them. She has grey though, so perhaps together they are like the harpy eagle.

“Malekith,” she repeats, the name pleasant and – as he’d suspected – unfamiliar. Perhaps he is from one of the other kingdoms, she muses, out for a walk in the forest.

“I’m Starlin.” She is young and emboldened by his warm smile, which gives her the courage to ask: “Do you prefer to keep to yourself? Is that why you didn’t think I would know you?” The questions seem logical to the grullo filly. “Or…oh.” The pause, a sudden moment of realization. “Were you going somewhere? Did I interrupt you? I’m so sorry.” She looks it too, eyes downcast, her emotions quicksilver.