Her solitude does not last long, and her hazel eyes brighten as she lifts her small scullion curiosity.
“Hello?” she cries out, her voice youthful but unquestioning. Neither of her parents had never raised her to be afraid and she felt no fear in this moment, despite the strangers that circled her. “Show yourself!” she demands, taking a small step forward on thin, coltish legs. At the idea of danger, of which there was not any, her heart thrills; what an adventure it would be to return home and tell her family of this.
Finally, a gold stallion, so similar in hue to her father that she takes a double take, walks up to her. At first, she gives him a friendly smile, but at his line of questioning, her expression hardens with stubbornness, her ears flipping backward and pressing into her fluffy mane. “I know exactly where I am meant to be,” she says defiantly, lifting her ashen gold chin. “Are you sure you are meant to be here?”
For a second, she considers tossing out her father’s name (he may not call himself King, but there was no reason she couldn’t elaborate for this interaction); however, her attention is drawn to the shadows when the stallion step away to address strangers she cannot see. Snorting in a way that mirrors his own, she takes a step forward, peering into the darkness to try and make out whatever could be there.
She doesn’t see anything though and although she feels profound disappointment, she also feels pity for the stallion who thinks he sees shapes in the dark. Shaking her head, she takes a small step away, gingerly lifting her legs and moving quietly as to make her escape from what is clearly a deranged individual.
hawke
I’m a princess cut from marble
{ smoother than a storm }