'No one our age comes out this far without something to pull us,' the sand-colored mare says, and Freya's lips curl into a smile. "I suppose you're right." Her tone is joking as she murmurs in agreement, sparing a glance over the meadow. Nothing has changed - no one else has decided to approach them, and Freya isn't unsurprised about it. She turns her attention back to the strange mare and finally introduces herself. "I'm Freya. I used to be queen of the Inlet, a long time ago."
The statement brings back a barrage of memories - meeting Dogun for the first time in this same meadow, marveling at the snowy peaks of Tinuvel, birthing their firstborn with a sense of pride and determination. Freya feels silly for introducing herself as such, like she's clinging to a bygone era, but a small part of her hopes that this strange might just be old enough to remember the time when Freya called Tinuvel hers.
The dun mare shoos the thought away with a subtle shake of her head, blue eyes turning back to her companion. There are a whole host of questions she wants to ask of her. Where has she come from? Has she always called the islands home? What sort of past is she holding close to her heart?
They're all questions she wants to ask, but doesn't. Instead she turns her gaze to the horizon, watching as another mare approaches a stray stallion and lays her claim to his haunches. Freya's gaze never leaves the pair as she asks, "It's strange, isn't it? How things change, but always seem to remain the same?"
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