she was born and taught to roar.
Leopard had lain herself comfortably in the mud, just out of reach of the ocean tides. Spring in Paradise was warmer than she was used to and, while she enjoyed the tropics, it was pleasurable to lay upon earth that was soaked in cold sea water. The area around her was open and flat, and it afforded her a great view of the northern coast of Atlantis. Occasionally, the ocean carried a strong sea breeze across Paradise. It whips against her muddied body and rustled the strands of mane and tail that hadn’t already adhered themselves to her frame in the mud and the moisture. It was this wind that brought to her the scents of unfamiliar equine; the buckskin mare didn’t think much of this information, mostly because she hadn’t taken the time yet to meet the others that called their territory home. At this point, Leopard was almost afraid to seek out those who lived here -- the one time she had attempted to call them all together for a casual sort of meet-and-greet, a stallion from another isle had snuck into Paradise and had attempted to force her into the ocean with him. She wasn’t much for meeting anyone new after that.
Of course, watching someone rise from the ocean was different than happening across them in the territory, and nearly screamed the word VISITOR to Leopard, who begrudgingly rose from the mud with a small grunt and a dog-like shake. She’s put at ease by the look of this intruder, who visited during midday and was trotting out in the open instead of slinking through the shadows of Paradise’s inland. She releases a call for the dark mare in a distance greeting -- she wanted to let the mare know she had been spotted and didn’t want to accidentally sneak up on her herself. The distance between them is closed swiftly and Leopard halts a few yards away. She was a fan of keeping a more-than-comfortable amount of space between herself and whoever she decided to converse with. “Hello. Welcome.”
Obviously, our Leopard is incredibly well-versed in the art of conversation.
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