Common

It only took a few moments of grazing for Kirova to begin to feel replenished. Her body was fit, a well-oiled and maintained machine; she had prepared for this journey. As energy and warmth flowed through her body after her icy swim, a soft nicker alerted her to the approach of another. The mahogany mare lifted her white-masked head to the pretty stranger, blue eyes watching her stride boldly, but not rudely, forward.

Kirova knickered in response, not reacting to the touch of the velvety muzzle on her thickly furred withers. She wondered if this was some kind of greeting here, but the mare then offered her nose in what Kirova knew was definitely a greeting, so perhaps it was something else. "My name is Kirova," she said. "I’m unfamiliar with this place. Are we in the Thicket?" She blew politely into the nostrils of the black mare to familiarize her with her scent. She seemed friendly enough, about the same size as Kirova, though she thought her own body was a bit stockier. Not that it was her intention, but she thought in a fight Kirova would hold her own if not come out the victor. She hadn’t come here to fight everyone, but the thought was always there; you never knew, and it was good to be prepared.

Kirova was well prepared.

But she didn’t necessarily want Vasilisa to know that (her thick winter coat hid the definition of her muscles to some extent, and she had a healthy layer of body fat on her) so the mahogany mare consciously relaxed her body, cocking a hind hoof and letting out a sigh of air to put the other mare at ease.

As she asked her muscles to rest, a stallion who had been just at the edges of Kirova’s vision approached the two mares. He, too, was black, and had a handsome arched face. He introduced himself as Lukasz, and welcomed the painted mare to the isles. She turned slightly so she was partially facing him, partially facing Vasilisa, and inclined her head towards him. "Thank you," she said. "My name is Kirova." His comment about the thicket told her there were other islands, a fact she had not known, but the name Luthien was unfamiliar to her. She tucked it away into her memory; she would ask more questions when the niceties were finished. She didn’t think Vasilisa would be frightened away by Kirova’s questions, but she had noticed the nervous edge to Lukasz’s voice, and she didn’t want to make him more uneasy. She, too, had been painfully shy as a filly, and she knew how much effort it took to approach a stranger. Thinking of this memory, Kirova gave him a small smile. Courage came in all forms, and she admired his.