The hunger is always gnawing, an ever-constant companion as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning. In a distant, gold-tinted memory of better times she can vaguely recall how it felt to be full, to be warm, to be fully rested. Somehow, though, that feeling only grows further from her grasp the more she eats. Finally giving in to her body and filling her aching stomach has made things worse. A wave of nausea so sudden comes over her that Riesling sways on her feet, head hanging loose to the ground, chest heaving as she fights for breath. A harsh little voice in the back of her mind tells her exactly why this is happening. Weakness it hisses, and she closes her eyes against her own shame. She’d given in, and now she’s paying for it. There’s no time for introspection, though, because Riesling isn’t alone for long - it’s no surprise when the call rings out, but it’s a disappointment all the same. Begrudgingly, she lifts her head from the soft spring grass at her feet to look over at the approaching stallion. Her ears pin back as he draws near, but Riesling doesn’t make a sound, instead following him with suspicious eyes. He’s just a hair shorter than her, a splashy bay coat that is pretty enough, but doesn’t hold a candle to her own loud pattern. More interestingly, he’s littered with scars, some fresh. It’s intriguing enough that Riesling doesn’t snap at him. Her body does go stiff as he comes to rest next to her, every inch of her poised to flee if he shows any inclination towards violence. She’s depleted, certainly, but not so much that she will go quietly. Her ears pin back as his gaze slides over her body, and she fights the instinct to flinch away, to waver under the weight of his gaze. Riesling glances to him when he speaks, and snorts in derision. “No harder than yours appears to have been,” she snarks. It’s harder to hide her surprise when he offers to travel with her. An offer? She wasn’t under the impression that things went quite that way in The Commons. Riesling had come expecting harsh teeth to her neck, firm words and little choice. She’s not prepared for kind words and a polite introduction. It sets her even more on edge, and she grinds her teeth. “I’m to believe I have a choice? Riesling bites out, closely followed by an unhappy little laugh. ”I’m Riesling,” is next, because she figures the least she can do is try to match his polite words. It won’t last long, of course, because it isn’t in her nature. But she can make an effort, at least. “Is there food, whenever it is we’re going?
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