She is, by all intents and purposes, late to the gathering. Björn's call had rang in the down of her bay ears, yet she had not come immediately to the call as others might. Her stomach was somewhat rounded with the promise of new life. A gift from Ruger whom she had briefly stayed with, until Björn's disruption of her youthful folly. The older stallion by far held to her last nerve. Brash tongue against brash tongue.

They might as well draw swords against one another.

Behind the last trickle of mares to the stallion she remained in the back, to one side of the crowd. It was a curious thing to see other mares upon the ridge. Rough terrain didn't seem keen to harbor too many bodies, and yet Björn had collected quite a few. Her pale blue eyes scoped the bodies, finding none so pleasing or interesting aside from Osiris, who's sheer mass brought her youthful curiosity to surface.

While she had drawn up to the crowd late, she had still been in time to hear out the stallion's speech. A war. Junia had little appeal to battle for the cause of another, especially one she didn't know. Not to mention the subtle curve of her rounding frame only meant she must protect what lay within her womb. Nostrils would flare abruptly at Björn's announcement, her pale eyes sharp on his grulla frame.

Junia's body remained tense as she squared off with the stallion. It seemed absurd he would ask any of them to fight with he and another stallion, for some cause unnamed. Herself, the amount of time she'd spent on the ridge was not nearly enough to goad interest in partaking in such events. "Just what is this cause you've promised to help Warsaw with?" Another name she wasn't familiar with, but stored away for the point of future matters. Her alabaster face was drawn serious in the tones of war. Would any of them fight in service of Björn, or perhaps self-preservation?