As he stands before her, Runar quickly notices that the filly’s strangely-curved ears are just the tip of the iceberg on a list of strikingly unusual things about her. Though he bears the proportionately long legs of youth, the filly is tall and sleek enough to make him feel short and stout. Where his silver coat is unmarred by white, hers is generously sprayed with it, and where his eyes are dark, hers are pale and blue like the sky. Runar is not yet worldly enough to recognize the features of a horse suited for a foreign climate; in fact, his exposure to others in general has been very limited. Therefore, he is unsure whether to be fascinated or disgusted by - or jealous of - her differences.

These feelings all coalesce together in his gut and are stoked by her sharp retort, causing his charcoal-tipped ears to twist backwards. “What are you even talking about?” he replies, his breath steaming out in a hot plume of condensation. “At least I have hair. And who is Allah? Why do you talk so weird?” He flicks his tail, a little wrinkle of annoyance appearing between his sharp, searching eyes.