It’s a slow fire that Sochi feeds. She prefers it that way. Prefers that the idea and news of her back goes slowly through Beqanna—that it is told in whispers between the shapeshifters, that they pass it along one to another. That the first to arrive is young delights her, and her silvery eyes sharpen when she sees the filly move into the Cove’s borders. She doesn’t go to her immediately though. Instead, she remains content to watch from afar, musing as she studies the white and black of her and what lies beneath.
She watches as Mazikeen paces, the uncertainty clear in the steps she takes, the way that she looks for her. It simmers for a moment before she finally chooses to step forward, coming down from the grassy hill and out from the shadows. She pads forward lightly on her paws, her feline tail twitching behind her as she makes her way slowly to the other filly, something like a smile shadowing the edges of her lips.
“Hello, Mazikeen,” she offers when she’s close enough, taking a step and shifting before the paw becomes a hoof and strikes the solid ground. “I’m so glad that you were able to find your way here.”
Not that she had any doubt that the filly would have.
After all, something beneath the surface made her think that this is exactly what the filly needed.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed