She stared, only because it was a habit of the blood. Just as her father had stared at her mother, and perhaps, she could only assume, his father before him had stared, Sova was a creature with eyes dark in color and bright in their intelligence, with a sort of stare for everyone.

Resting on the edge of the watering hole, Sova feels the life being soaked back into her skin, as her once cracked lips are sated with the touch of water and her painfully dry and empty belly takes in all that she can drink, the smoky mare looks nothing graceful like the black-skinned woman on the other side of the water. Still staring at her after her little bathing moment, the stare is returned and she suddenly feels shy.

This stranger has the eyes of a hawk.

Slightly intimidated by El Aran, Sova ducks her eyes almost apologetically, but not before catching a few words. Stern and nothing flamboyant, they are welcome all the same. Smiling a small smile, the girl responds with a name. “Encantador.” A pause as she thinks for a moment or two. “I don’t think he calls me his.” She had come here on her own volition, finding fascination in the angry young stallion, some part of her wanting to know more. Of course, that would happen eventually, she assumed. “My name is Sova.” She says softly, thankful for the small distance between them that requires neither of them to shout. Thank god for small things.

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