Rowena's stomach turns. She fights to form the words but nothing comes. Instead, a long silence stretches out between them, and Macabre takes the opportunity to initiate some pleasant small talk. Rowena doesn't know whether to be relieved to think of something else, or disappointed in her own inability to do what she came here to do. It's just another failed mission. Everything Rowena has set out to do in life, she's failed miserably at.

"Thank you," she mutters, casting her gaze bashfully aside. It's been a long time since they've seen each other. Macabre looks smaller, but Rowena knows Macabre hasn't been shrinking. Its herself that's grown from a gangly filly to the hefty mare she's come to be now. She may not be nearly as tall as her father or her grandparents on that side of the family, but she inherited their good flesh and solid bone. She is another horse that will weather harsh island winters well. "You look great, Macabre. It's so good to see you." The last phrase rushes past her lips with a sigh of such sincerity. It really is good to see a kind face after everything that's happened.

Pleasantries passed, and Rowena's breathing has found steady rhythm again. Tear-stained cheeks begin to dry. but where the conversation steers next tightens sadness like a vice around her throat again. "I'm not sure," she answers. "I guess so. I don't have anywhere else to go." Curious, Rowena asks, "If you don't know who lives here, then where are you living now?"

Rowena shifts her weight, and her ears turn, suddenly aware of what she's done. She didn't think, in her state of mixed grief and nostalgia, that the Ridge might belong to someone else now. She and Macabre might be in danger trespassing on someone else's terrain.