Humble beginnings; nothing special, the natural byproduct of stallion and mare left to their own devices out in the nondescript wilds of some unknown land - maybe America. Until spirited away, like a changeling child to this place of frights and sights that kept her eyes opened so very wide in pure amazement. If it should have frightened her - it did not, she lacked a natural response to fear and usually just laughed, impolite and impish in her own right. She had no sense, please forgive her!
She - it is always a she - simple and easy to conjure out of sperm and egg and air, and about as light and daft as air too; was to put it plainly, brown. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Brown fur. Brown brown brown. Boring in looks, but not in personality or so she hoped. Then again, she didn’t care and had few cares in the world left to give. Everything sort of rolled off her like water on a duck’s back to borrow that expression, but it fit her best.
Oh! Who is her? Bean, of course! Yes, an odd but charming name to match an odd but equally charming little character. Plumped up on good summer grass and some poor farmer’s hay field that Bean had happily munched her way through before taking a wrong turn in the woods that landed her decidedly not somewhere in America but here, rather. And just where was here exactly? She felt a touch of disorientation, almost like a bout of colic beginning in her belly until she overheard with one short eavesdropping ear the name of this place - Beqanna.
Odd name, but who was she to pass judgment on what was odd or not? Lest she planned on including herself in that same oddness and she did, because she stuck out like a sore thumb. Bean was as ordinary as ordinary could get! Downright small and plump too, in the way that most ponies are because they like apples and grass just a bit too much. No dieting for this girl! Nope, the head-to-toe-er…. hoof brown gal was just what she was - ordinary.
Back to Bean and Beqanna though —
It’s snowing and Bean is staring straight up into the sky with her neck stretched as far as it can go. Snowflakes catch on her eyelashes and get caught in the tangles of her hair. Snow even gathers on her back, like a nice cold blanket that she doesn’t feel through her thick shaggy fur. Soft murmurings of “Wow, wow, wow!” tumble from her mouth until they escalate in volume to the point that she’s snow spinning and shouting “Wow, wow, wow!” into the snowfall, sparing no thought to who might be watching or listening.
Bean, Beqanna.
Beqanna, Bean.