isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone
He reacts to her flash, but she does not do or say anything further. He reacts similar to how she reacts to things – strong, prepared to fight, but not in a way that suggests any real kind of fear or panic. Because her light fades away and leaves nothing but the usual impassiveness of her, with no kind of lingering tension or apprehension. She is not guarded, she is not timid or meek. She matches the intensity of his stare with one of her own, and studies him in a similar way.
She has learned how to recognize the stars in others, but that is not him. He something fierce, of that she is sure, but whatever it is that simmers beneath the surface of him is something she can’t quite place. He reminds her of the stallion she had met in Pangea, the one she had asked him if it felt like a storm inside of his chest. She is not sure if it is similar for the man before her now, if the thunder he kept trapped was anger or something else.
“Morrowind,” and while she doesn’t like most things, she likes the way his name feels on her tongue. She can feel the promise of the power behind it, and though he does not have the pull of the stars to draw her in, she decides that he is interesting enough as is.
“My name is Islas,” she tells him, a simple kind of smile weaving across her lips as she states plainly, “and I am a trapped star.”
