The pale filly's gaze darts to her brother in alarm as he boldly asks for the mare's care, unsure if she would take offense to it. Back home only certain mares allowed such things, and they did not yet know this mare's name. Still, she cannot hide the hard swallow of a throat made rough from the involuntary swallowing of salty brine.

Alastor remains pressed to the Fjord mare's side while she reaches toward the filly, his own fear subsiding in slow waves while he watches. The small girl tenses as the mare reaches for her, certain that she is going to reprimand her and clacks her teeth in apology. Instead of censure, however, the mare treats her with kindness and the gentle touch of someone who cared spawned tears that leaked slowly down the girls cheeks.

Worriedly the dark colt watches his sister, grateful to see her moving but unnerved by her pain. It was not a rock that she had stepped on that he could dislodge or a pointy branch that had poked into her side that he could soothe. This type of pain he was woefully unprepared to deal with and he was left feeling useless. Thankfully, this mare seemed able to do what he could not, and he slowly relaxed. A tentative smile ghosted across his lips at her offer and he nodded but did not yet move to drink his fill. Not yet.

Warmed by the mare's touch, Sibyl finds the strength to rise onto her wobbly legs, fighting the pull of slumber. Exhaustion hung like lead weights around her ankles, but she could see how worried her brother was and knew that he would fret if she did not at least attempt to drink. And if the young girl were being entirely honest with herself, the thought of a warm drink sounded wonderful.

Nervously she stumbled to the mare's side, and with one ear cocked back to watch for a change of heart, nosed her way to her first drink what felt like forever. Alastor had stepped away to make room for her and stood on guard on his sister's opposite side to support her if she wavered. Steadfastly he ignored his own depleted energy and instead turned his face toward the mare, with gratefulness wrote all over it.

"Thank you." He gently nosed Sibyl's hip before looking back toward the mare. It is foolish perhaps, but he has already decided to trust her. If she meant them harm, she would have done so already and he needed her help. "This is Sibyl, and I'm Alastor. But you can call me Tor if you like, Sibby does."

His tone ends somewhere around bashfulness as a wave of shyness takes over his normal confidence. Now that the crisis seemed over in his mind, he wanted this mare to like him.

Thirst sated, the girl turns from Zjeena to cuddle between the two of them, thankful for the warmth they provided, even if Tor was still wet. Softly she touched the mare's foreleg, and with a small smile offered a quiet, "thank you."

Satisfied that she was safe, fed, and supported by Zjeena, Alastor sidled to the mares other side, and with a final look to make sure the mare had not changed her mind, ducked his head to slake his own thirst. Sibyl glanced upward, taking in a jungle for the first time in her life, and felt her eyes go wide. This was definitely not home. Unbidden, soft spoken words rise onto her lips. "What is this place?"