Enniska watches the world around her curiously with bright blue eyes, her ears flick back and forth, listening to anything and everything she can find. This new place is strange to Enniska, different from the places she has visited before. The energy in the air is foreign and indescribable to the dark mare, it was almost...magical. Enniska is yet to interact with anyone from here, so far she has only observed. She saw a few horses pass by in small groups and alone, but that was all. Now she is feeling more comfortable, and her eyes scan the empty field in front of her. Nothing. Enniska returns to grazing, not because she is hungry, but simply because she has nothing better to do. The night is getting colder, she notices, and a slight shiver runs down her spine. She has always been partial to winter, and summer did nothing but irritate her. The grass is dry and tastes like dust, but it does not matter, because Enniska abandons the task when a scent in the breeze catches her attention; a mare.
It takes no time at all to spot the mare, even in the trees; she is ghostly. Her coat is as pale as the moon peering down at them, and she seems to almost glow in its light. Enniska's dark body is perfectly still, and there at the treeline she melts seamlessly into her surroundings. Enniska watches the mare, taking in everything she can. The mare moves like water; soundlessly and pointlessly, but powerfully. She seems to have no purpose and all the purpose in the world all at once. She reaches the treeline, and Enniska sees her speaking to herself, or perhaps to the creatures hidden in the forest. The ghostly mare smiles, something Enniska is immediately intrigued by, for her smile seems to hold so much within it. It is in this moment that Enniska realises the mare did not speak to herself, but she had greeted anyone close enough to hear. Enniska hesitates for a second, and then she moves towards the mare.
She does not keep her presence a secret, and allows her charcoal hooves to hit the earth with a heavy and clear thud. Now that she is moving, her own appearance reflects the other mare's; her silvery coat glitters ever so slightly, and a long, pointed horn catches the moon's rays. But when she stops, she once again seems to be swallowed up by the darkness.
"Hello."
Enniska
you've got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger is mine