Solace
. . .
His deep voice rumbles in harmony with the tumbling waters, and Solace is glad to see she has not startled him with her Hello. River dwellers could be flighty creatures she had found, but his nonchalant acceptance of her presence helps to reassure her that he is not a lurking Sylvian spy.
"Left for us?" She questions him gently with a smile tugging at one corner of her pale muzzle. She wonders who would pile apples under an oak tree, but sometimes the unanchored residents of the Riverlands could be eccentric.
They had to occupy their long, dim days somehow - she supposed.
Despite the information of another stash somewhere close, she is content to remain belly-deep in the cool water - as he seems to be too. Solace watches his sea-green eyes, noting the fire which is not altogether unfamiliar to see in a stallions eyes this time of year, and the way they almost seem to struggle to remain locked on her face. She keeps her distance but remains easy, the only precaution she takes in to draw her heavy, water-soaked wings out of the water.
The fethers drain, washing her golden topline in their rivers as he asks for her name.
"Lace," she replies with her childhood nickname on a whim (one that she probably indulged too often). But the young mother wanted to know more about this stranger at her doorstep before she revealed her title, and after four years as the ruler of Hyaline, her name often brought with it recognition. "And what should I call you?"
@[Chemdog]