She has not left the woods of Sylva in a very long time.
The land beneath the fiery trees lacks nothing; with the fall of Pangea she even has the sea. What appeal could the rest of Beqanna hold for her? Somewhere, a small voice cries out for adventure, but she has spent years smothering the call. It’s little more than a whine now, a soft pleading when she has nothing else to distract her, easy to ignore. Easier still, when she satisfies her urge to wander with simple jaunts to the common lands.
This journey to the forest is no adventure, but it is a place that is not Sylva, filled with horses that she does not pass every day. It is enough for now.
She stands quietly in the shadows, content to watch the unfamiliar faces trickle past. They are all headed somewhere, many of them distracted by their own thoughts. The forest at dusk does not seem to be a place for the cheerful , but Djinni is not bothered. She is not here to make herself happy, only to be somewhere that she had not been. She has memories in this forest, many of them hazy – few worth remembering.
She is reaching for one when she hears approaching footsteps. He is easy to spot even in the dark woods – motion that is not the swaying of branches in the wind – but she does not step away from her thicket. She doesn’t intend to at all, but the black stallion spots her when the others hadn’t, pausing beside her hiding place and demanding that she reveal herself. The mare does briefly consider disappearing, but she has not come to the forest only to go home, and she does as he requests.
Though the light is (barely) brighter beside the stallion than it had been in the thicket, Djinni is still easy to miss. Most of her body is a deep rich brown that mimics the woods behind her, with forelegs and haunches that are striped black and white much like sunlight filtered through thin trees. Her sea-green eyes stand out in her pale face, and bemused smile she offers the taller stranger is a pretty one.
Djinni is always lovely, even when colored like an okapi. She tilts her head upward to meet the larger stallion’s gaze and the last of the sunlight catches the golden rings in her ears. They match the bands around her ankles, which clink gently as she resettles her weight now that she is still.
“Did you need something?” She asks, her voice soft and low, “Or did you just want to wake me?” There’s no malice in her voice, but nor is there any sign of weariness in her green eyes. She’d not been sleeping, that much is clear.