It’s a strange feeling, returning to the island that had so haunted her while she had been wandering the continent alone. Only I won’t be seeing the prairie again. That chapter of my story has been written.

It’s the forest she finds herself in this time, and it’s unlike anywhere else she’s been before. It’s secluded and quiet, but not the boring kind of quiet: here she can hear birds singing in the canopy above her head and dead leaves crunching under her hooves. It’s a far cry from the vast, open plains and rocky cliffs she is used to, and she loves it. It makes her feel safe, hidden from prying eyes and privy to the secrets that nature has to offer.

She had met Bondurant by chance in the meadow. Entranced by his unusual appearance and admirable stature, she had gone out on a limb and… flirted. He had been stoic and somewhat awkward, as if unused to such attention, yet one thing had led to another and before she knew it, she was no longer a virgin.

The least I could do was come home with him, she thinks to herself as she picks her way through the trees, uncertain where she is going or what she is doing. The champagne mare has seen little of him since their intense first meeting, however. He is a quiet, serious man, but thankfully she is not ignorant to the multitude of scents that permeate the woods. There will be plenty of girls to keep her company in the meantime.

She eventually finds them, gathered in a loose group amidst a large clearing, but suddenly her confidence deserts her and she hangs back, hidden in the trees. Another mare, tall and bay, seems to have the same idea, and is stationed off to her right at the edge of the glade, well away from the others. Perhaps she’ll do.

Myrcella, not quite yet ready to present herself, takes but a single step in the direction of the bay mare. Trees still bar her path, but nonetheless she clears her throat: a delicate, lady-like sound aimed to catch the other’s attention.