Common

Though Faolain was no longer responsible for Ailill’s family, she still felt the stab of guilt when Siobhan was taken by Nyimara. She had not come close to the red mare, though she doubted Sio would have warmed to her anytime soon, and she certainly thought any chances of that happening are no longer. While not starving for friendship - Faolain is a solitary creature at the best of times, anti-social at the worst - the black mare still struggled with the result of the fight, feeling as though she’d failed her home and those who dwelled within it.

Now, as Faolain stares off at the waves where Sio and the silver mare disappeared, she is too frustrated to stay still. She knows the Ridge is not in any immediate danger after the unfortunate battle, at least for a little while, so she lets the waves pull her in. The sea is not friendly today, and though the weather of Atlantis is pleasant, the ocean turns cold not long after she departs. The black mare is shivering almost immediately, but she pushes through, embracing the bite of the wind as it picks up her wet mane and slaps it harshly against her face. When she is finally deposited onto the wintry shore of the Crossing, Faolain is more tired from the shivers that rattle her body than she is from the swim itself. Her muscles tighten down and she bites her tongue hard, trying to pull herself together; it was obscenely rare that the sleek Akhal-Teke was caught in an emotional state, and she is quick to hide the symptoms of her anger once the shivering abates.

She had not entirely intended to come to the Crossing, but she is somewhat glad this is where she has ended up. Even with Siobhan, the Ridge’s population is sparse, and the cats that dwell in the depths of the jungle are observant. It is a risk that she has taken to leave, but perhaps she can make up for it by bringing home a new face. It is not the first in her mind as she shakes the frigid water from her steaming body, but as her eyes set upon a solitary twilight mare, the thought becomes more insistent.

She moves stiffly, but after a few strides her gait becomes fluid once again and she halts at the shoulder of the grulla mare with little sign of her poor acclimation to the cold. She is nearly the same height as Faolain, only a hair taller, and the sleek black mare extends her muzzle with a soft whicker of greeting to the other. Though Faolain herself has not been so unfortunate to step foot in the Common before, she knows the rules of the land, and her eyes sweep suspiciously across the snow-patched ground. ”Are you aware of the laws here?” she asks, her voice soft and cool, but not unkind. ”If you want of a home, I can take you to one; it is warm, and safe.”