Mazarine looks expectantly between the three horses gathered around her, wondering what parts of themselves they might choose to share. The first to speak up is the large mare, Geneva. She is the lead mare, so of course she would take charge. Mazarine is carefully evaluating Geneva's words and the subtleties of her body language. The little red mare tilts her head, listening with an eager attentiveness.

Mazarine can't escape the feeling that Geneva is bragging a bit. She welcomes Mazarine to their wasteland, and her wry smirk could be taken as a challenge. Well, challenge accepted. This pony is no fragile flower. She will survive just fine in this wasteland thank you very much. Mazarine's nostrils wrinkle a bit at the mention of children. She has no idea why someone would put themselves through such misery, but to each their own.

The next to speak up is the smaller Zubeia. The shy little mare doesn't seem to know what to say, so Mazarine offers her some encouragement. "Anything! Where are you from? How long have you been here?"

It is then that the large stallion takes his leave. Mazarine give him a curt nod of understanding. Her eyes watch him trot off into oblivion. Mazarine will have to learn more about him later.