Róisín relished in the changing of seasons. She had grown capable of surviving through the Peak's vicious winters, but had not yet developed any sort of fondness for the cold that gripped the land. Her heart still yearned for the balmy temperatures of Atlantis, especially with the recent trip the Peak's leadership had taken to Paradise. Perhaps someday she would return to her childhood home, if only to walk once more along the familiar paths and dip her muzzle in the pool of Sigurudr's waterfall. Even the birds here were fierce. Unlike the background melodies of the tropical birds on Atlantis, the Peak was home to eagles and falcon's whose shrill cries drilled into your head as if they were calling out for battle.

The longer she lived here, the less Róisín felt like she knew what she was doing. She had believed for a time that they were working for a brighter future, and perhaps they were still, in some way. The Lagoon's capture of the pintaloosa mare after they had all agreed to do better still troubled her, as did Oswin's... situation. Róisín had had her suspicions before, given the strange timing of events, but the size of the newborn at her hip now left little room for doubt. Oswin, despite all of her claimed history with the Lagoon, had allowed herself to be covered by the same stallion that had participated in the torment of Róisín's family.

It was enough to shake Róisín's beliefs to the core, and she stayed now out of equal parts duty to her elected position and loyalty to Iscariot. He deserved to have something stable, and anyway, she wouldn't risk his life on another swim. It was this or a nomadic life on the Crossing and this, at least, afforded them some semblance of protection, even if it was flimsy.

She followed the call of the little brown mare they had rescued from the Lagoon with curiosity in her eyes. Shenzi had said little in the time she'd since arrived, and despite her burning curiosity regarding Rade's assertions about Nyimara, Róisín had allowed her the time to cope and adjust. Apart from making it very clear that she was no longer a prisoner, Róisín hadn't pressed too much. She could see the pain in the mare's eyes, and having watched a similar thing happen to her own mother, she knew not to pressure her.

"Shenzi," she said warmly as she approached, and extended her muzzle toward the fierce little mare for an exchange of breaths if she was willing. Pricking her dark rimmed ears forward, Róisín settled in for conversation, her gaze softening as it met Shenzi's. Rói didn't know her story, but it was clear to her from the scars that littered her coat and from the way that she carried herself that Shenzi had not had an easy life. Perhaps that was how Nyimara had ensnared her in the beginning. Pushing aside the thought of the silver-haired witch that had put her family through hell, Rói spoke again, more softly. "How are you?"