There is much she could do - make the pied stranger entirely whole, wish the entire accident to have never happened. But the cuts are the worst and it is those she tends to, stitching together the skin and replenishing the blood lost with a single blink and a shimmer of sand that disappears before it reaches the snow at their feet. The wish to feel better is less specific, it might lessen the migraine or lift her spirits or something else entirely; that is less predictable. Much depends on the subject with such vague wishes.
To the black stallion, who rises not only from the water but from her past, she gives only a long moment of uninterrupted eye contact. The visceral reaction to his arrival is unmistakeable, but Djinni has spent years wishing away the emotions, and so those are easier to suppress.
"Brown?" She repeats the last word the other mare says, but there is more incredulity in her voice than confusion. "Fine." And then black Stillwater is suddenly brown, deep and dark like the mud at the bottom of his lake, like the cold walls of his cave where they had conceived their son. It looks wrong, but Djinni finds it tightens her control; the brown stallion is not what she remembers, and so she can continue to live inside the life she's crafted for herself in his absence.
Best to not look at him much longer, she decides.
Instead the rose-gold genie turns back to the dappled mare ahead of her, and clears away the blood - fresh and dried alike. There are still bruises, and puckered ridges from where her wishing clashed with biology, but there is no denying the other mare looks a far sight better than she had a moment ago.
"I'm Djinni," says the Nerenian, now completely ignoring the ghost of her past that lingers between Agnieszka and the water. "What happened to you?" The question is probing, but the tobiano expects an answer - even if it is just that the other doesn't want to talk about it.