Everything about Sova had become… slowed. The way she thought was still quick and she was still bright, but she no longer felt the need to rush to the most secluded of places to find that there was no one there waiting for her. The discovery that her father had willingly abandonned her mother whilst the dark skinned woman was carrying the smoky girl, had been enough to crack something within the child. The crack was long and thin, and it could have gone unnoticed if no one was looking for it… but the way El Aran’s eyes burn into her skin makes her feel as though she’s been discovered.

For a couple moments, she follows quietly behind the desert dancer, watching her hooves in silence as they dig into the sand in front of her, leaving a trail that Sova was meant to walk in- which she does. Placing each foot into each carefully placed divot in the sand, the smoky girl feels an old smile creep across her lips as she imagines the twisted legs of her mother leaving a path for her to follow on the beaches of the far away land…

“Why do you stay, if the heat bothers you so?” El Aran’s voice sounds soft to Sova’s ears, and it brings her to pause to think for a moment, smiling briefly as the other girl carries on with her questioning, a careful rewording bringing an answer to the front of Sova’s mind. “Can I not conquer it?” She asks inquisitively. She had assumed that it would have been possible to conquer the heat, to take control and to weave the heat in the desert as though it was silk strings in her hands. “No… I don’t really know…” The mare picks up her feet a bit to fall in line next to the other woman. “I guess I just want a home.”

sova
Sova Lyovna Levanevskaya, the little russian owl.
mare. smoky black. three years. mutt. Ee aa nCr. 15.1 hands.
sova: pronounced as soh-vah