once upon a time it would have been impossible for a stranger to approach her unawares. the guardian of the peak had been ever watchful… but now she was often lost in her thoughts, wandering the deep craggy recesses of her mind as she stared vacantly ahead and meandered on. he was lucky her first reaction was merely to whirl around in surprise, her ears flattened and lost in the inky crown of mane at her poll, and to snort indignantly.
standing seventeen and a half hands tall and not of light build she could defend herself easily in most circumstances. generally a stern look and lifting one of her large hooves in warning was enough to scatter the offending party. in this case, however, she saw no ill intent in the strangers misstep. his immediate retreat and apology made clear the accidental nature of the encounter and he almost seemed more remorseful than necessary, as if he had expected her to deal him a blow. she wasn’t the only one in the world who walked with wounds, this she needed to remember. everyone had their cross to bear. at the prospect of exchanging a few words with the stranger her cross seemed to lighten some.
her deep brown eyes soften at his small talk and her ears flicker hesitantly forward. her head remains high, proud as she nods in agreement. many have left this place. i am surprised to see a face at all. she offers her words freely, though somewhat awkwardly. she has never been adept at small talk. her Slavic accent still hangs heavily on her words but she has found that her time in the peak greatly improved her english.
as a gust of frigid wind picks up at her side she turns back to the direction she had been walking, the wind at her back, and gestures with her convex muzzle for him to join her, if he wishes.
