01-03-2018, 12:01 AM
Sympathy throws away any doubts Wound might have. The feelings that follow being lost from those you love — insecurity, fear, frustration, disappointment, unease — are never positive emotions. The silver bay is surprised the other mare hasn’t lashed out yet in a way to express her discomforts. She’s seen several others that smell of other worlds snap and coil like snakes when strangers approach. Negative emotions often produce negative reactions, she has noticed.
She doesn’t blame the red roan for her apathetic reaction to Wound’s presence. Beqanna can be a frightening place, especially in comparison to the comforting rhythm of a previous life. Nonetheless, the other mare reacts rather kindly toward the situation. For a brief moment, relief dances in Wound’s chest (she will not be sneered at or kicked at today). It plummets when the mare mentions a word the silver bay had never heard before — farm.
Confusion writes itself across her pretty face as her brows pull together. Wound has spent all of her life within the confinements of Beqanna’s territory and doesn’t understand words such as farm or human or harness. Perhaps her life is easier because of that, but in this moment it renders her task a bit more difficult.
Another gentle look swarms Wound’s face to replace her confusion. The roan is clearly agitated with her unfamiliar surroundings and the words the bay will say cannot soothe that anxiety. She wishes it could. “I’m afraid I don’t know what a farm is…” There is a drag to her words, a heaviness that shows how awful Wound feels to deliver such news. To have traveled far enough that the language has changed must make the stranger feel even more unwelcome.
“My name is Wound. I’d love to help you look for your home, if you’d like.” Coffee eyes glance up at the sky, where the sun is quickly beginning to dip closer to the horizon. Soon enough the stars will come out — and along with them, the predators of the night. “It will be dark soon. I don’t think you’d want to be caught out in the open once night falls.” Her gaze returns to the red roan, an expression of friendly concern on her face. “My home is called Tephra. I can provide you safety while you search for your ‘farm’ in the meantime.”
She doesn’t blame the red roan for her apathetic reaction to Wound’s presence. Beqanna can be a frightening place, especially in comparison to the comforting rhythm of a previous life. Nonetheless, the other mare reacts rather kindly toward the situation. For a brief moment, relief dances in Wound’s chest (she will not be sneered at or kicked at today). It plummets when the mare mentions a word the silver bay had never heard before — farm.
Confusion writes itself across her pretty face as her brows pull together. Wound has spent all of her life within the confinements of Beqanna’s territory and doesn’t understand words such as farm or human or harness. Perhaps her life is easier because of that, but in this moment it renders her task a bit more difficult.
Another gentle look swarms Wound’s face to replace her confusion. The roan is clearly agitated with her unfamiliar surroundings and the words the bay will say cannot soothe that anxiety. She wishes it could. “I’m afraid I don’t know what a farm is…” There is a drag to her words, a heaviness that shows how awful Wound feels to deliver such news. To have traveled far enough that the language has changed must make the stranger feel even more unwelcome.
“My name is Wound. I’d love to help you look for your home, if you’d like.” Coffee eyes glance up at the sky, where the sun is quickly beginning to dip closer to the horizon. Soon enough the stars will come out — and along with them, the predators of the night. “It will be dark soon. I don’t think you’d want to be caught out in the open once night falls.” Her gaze returns to the red roan, an expression of friendly concern on her face. “My home is called Tephra. I can provide you safety while you search for your ‘farm’ in the meantime.”