Common

Kore's ears turn back catch the voice behind her, followed by the rest of slim frame. She, too, fails to recognize the storm-grey mare standing before her at first, her brow furrowing slightly at her words, but then she flares her nostrils, and her body answers that question for her, sending molten adrenaline coursing through her veins. That scent, and her pale face... how could she forget?

At least she isn't cold anymore.

The former Queen's curiosity turns to bitterness on her tongue. Her gaze hardens, lips drawing into a taut, firm line, and her white tail cracks as it lashes whiplike across her snow-damp hindquarters. Kore scoffs, dismissive. Not where I belong? How would she know?

The Arabian meets Xiomara's icy blue eyes, petty defiance making her bold. Her voice comes... mostly even, if you don't count the pique souring every other syllable. "I could say the same for you, your highness, and yet here we are." The honorific isn't meant to convey respect; the manner in which she spits it out, like rotten fruit, gives that away instantly, but what it does show is Kore's awareness of the other mare's identity. Names, introductions, false pleasantries - none of it is needed here, nor wanted, at least not on her end. Their reputations were more than enough.

Where Xiomara has a consistent refuge in which to lay her skullcapped head, though, Kore no longer does. Come to think of it, why isn't she there? Her coat, too, is not as thick as it should be for true winter, and while the subtle swell of her belly could be the result of eating too much grass, her toned muscles everywhere else hint towards pregnancy. Swimming this far out, braving the frozen seas, all while in foal? Is she trying to tempt the fates? Kore lets the silence hang, awkward and full of static electricity looking for a spark, and filters through the many questions now rolling to the forefront of her mind. Her words come brusque, quick and cutting right to the point as they echo off the cavern walls.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Truly, she cannot guess what. Xiomara has her home, her crown, and her power. What else is there to take? "If not," she finishes, "I'd suggest you go back to your home, lest someone assume you've abandoned it again." The longer she stays here, intruding on Kore's grudging solitude, the angrier the small mare gets, tension creeping into the fine curves of her posture until she's stiff as a board. Her ears slide back, waiting for - what, exactly? Insults? Physical blows? A goose chase down the maze of pitch-black tunnels, going until she falls towards the center of the earth, never to be heard from again? She doesn't know, but Xiomara is a wildcard, an unknown quantity save for the whispered rumors of her vicious nature and bloody past. There's a reason they call her warrior, even if Kore can't see it clearly, and for all her fire and brimstone, she doesn't really want to find out. Not here, backed into a corner, with no one else around to hear her dying screams.