Mazarine regards the stallion with curious eyes. She tries to gauge his intentions through his body language. He seems sincere. She can feel his own eyes on her, and see the gears turning behind them. One corner of Mazarine's lips tug into a crooked smile. A mischievous light passes across her face. Maybe she is just young and playful, or maybe she is as fiery as her red hair.
Another cold winter breeze sweeps across the commons, frosting the wet ends of her hair. The pony shivers anew.
This stallion is no Baron. He's altogether something different and every thing that makes him different is a breath of fresh air to Mazarine. He is perhaps too big to be her mate, but who says every adventure must lead to romance? Mazarine is intrigued by this stranger. The idea of somewhere warm and dry doesn't sound half bad in her current state either. "Warm eh? I like the sound of that." The red mare raises a brow. "The name's Mazarine." she offers, and gives a respectful nod of the head. "Let's go to this desert of yours. I'd like to get out of this weather."