She blinked, attention drawn to the midnight stranger when he spoke, almost surprised at his words. Avangeline hadn’t dared imagine Al-Hattaal, returning from his search for his sister, beginning to look for her. They’d been close, she’d consider them friends, but she always kept close at heart the day the red mare had attacked her and what he had revealed. To think of him walking the length of Crossing Isle, turning a keen eye to any buckskin he saw (as she did the same to any sleek, jet-black stallion) was… uplifting. To think he might miss her, even when he shouldn’t.
And Bjorn? Avangeline wasn’t sure. She hadn’t tried to visit the Luthien forest again. Maybe she should. Maybe she would find her white-faced grullo friend there… she’d been so afraid when last she saw him that he would blame Al-Hattaal for what had happened to her… and Avangeline didn’t want to tell Bjorn of Al-Hattaal or vice versa. It was all quite confusing, as she wasn’t used to having such thoughts or feelings for any stallion.
Her attention returned to her nameless acquaintance, watching as he closed his eyes before he spoke again. A strange sensation struck her in her torso, as if his words had been a pebble cast into a pool to cause a ripple effect. Her smile turned coy without her actively meaning for it to and, in shyness, her gaze averted. Four years old and Avangeline, so sheltered, still behaved as a yearling when it came to attraction; she didn’t fully understand it, either. She was just beginning to, when… well.
“Thank you,” she said gently, a true smile on her mouth for the kindness he had showed her in his compliment. Avangeline had never been able to place herself first; she didn’t even know how to begin. She worried for everyone else, for those she cared for, before she ever considered her own wellbeing. She wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand how to move on from Al-Hattaal and Bjorn, or if she didn’t want to. They’d been the firsts, after all, that she’d begun to have feelings and she still didn’t fully understand the depth of what she’d felt for them.
The black stallion suckled at the water, a soft sound nearly drowned by the roar of the falls, and then sighed. It was his sigh, so soft and barely noticeable, that drew her gaze to his face. Both ears pressed forward, trained on him and her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “You would do that… for me?” Avangeline could not help but smile, moved by his kindness, no matter how small it was. “My name is Avangeline,” she said. Only then she realized she didn’t know his. How could she properly thank this stranger if she knew not what to call him by?
“What’s your name?” She asked.
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