the girl, she's hiding horns; any

[Leokadia]

she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone

If Leokadia had not discovered the splendidly viscous swath of red mud or decided that she had a craving for a particular patch of meadow this encounter would never have happened. She has met her fair share of interesting horses, more than half of them having no idea what to make of her. Often when she doesn’t have something to gain from an interaction the cremello is content to be considered mad or at the very least churlish. As she’s grown older she has begun to recognize the forces that shape her behavior, perhaps because she tends to focus most on the memories that aren’t perfect, that don’t look crystal clear. In the past she has only rarely reached for genuine connection, and has usually been spurned. She remembers Maiko, bitter and vicious and wanting nothing to do with a plague-ridden child. It had been her first infatuation and she still remembers how she had wanted to antagonize that green mare, annoy her, and follow her to the ends of the earth. A daughter again, even in dysfunction.

She has no more need of a mother, but still the desire for connection persists, tucked neatly beneath all of Leokadia’s off-putting idiosyncrasies.

Ciri doesn’t bristle or spit at her and Leokadia does a poor job of concealing her surprise, strange light eyes taking a second pass over Ciri’s features just to be sure she hasn’t missed a smirk or an incoming barb. How strange. This doesn’t fill the little mare with anything like relief, just confusion. She is accustomed to a little hostility or condescension in response to her own oddity. Though to be fair, she has not overtly insulted Ciri or said anything that could be interpreted as a threat which is unusual in itself. Happily the conversation progresses and draws the cremello away from these thoughts. 

“Why did you choose it?” What is there? She really asks, who is there? Others have these elaborate webs of acquaintances and still more meaningful attachments. How? What is it like? Realizing she could probably just ask Ciri this specifically does make Leokadia feel something but this question does not erupt from her like the others.

It is the best place to see all the stars. It is with these words that she is certain she must go, there is warmth creeping up the back of her neck. The distance is no object but they do have their differences in optimal means of travel, she is about to stretch her wings out and decide if she would like to fly north when Ciri’s muzzle presses into the side of her neck, just for a moment. Lo tosses her head following after the dark mare just a step or two. Her wings spread wide, the red dust coming off of them in a cloud of earthly glitter. They are oversized and yet she is able to fold them in closely to her sides again before gracefully moving after Ciri.
“No headstart for you. I’m going the ground way.” Her smile is brief, feral by way of being uninhibited and she reaches out almost as if to nip the air above Ciri’s shoulder but tosses her shapely head at the last moment and lopes on ahead, but not far. Lo is pleased to not know where she is going.

Later, after they have run or walked on Leokadia glances at Ciri, watching her for a moment before saying “I couldn’t fly, when I was young. I was born too early and it took a long time--too long before my wings developed.” They still somehow ended up too big, maybe she had willed them to be thus.

but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones

Leokadia

@Ciri