Róisín's pink lips had barely brushed across the tallest stalks before a call echoed across the open valley, signalling that she'd been spotted. The call wasn't one that the dun girl heard often, but then again, she didn't often hear anyone's calls these days. With Iscariot gone and most of the Peak women in small clusters made up of only their family members, she had grown accustomed to being lonely in a sea of faces. Even so, Róisín recognized the sound and immediately stiffened.

She knew it was childish to keep avoiding the Prime Minister of the sisters, and yet she had been studiously avoiding every single one-on-one interaction that she could since the day she'd found out Oswin was pregnant the first time. Now, with what was clearly another child on the way, who was also, presumably, sired by the Lagoon General, Róisín had even less desire to seek out the golden mare that helmed the sisters. Especially if Oswald was not there to serve as an unwitting buffer between the two of them.

But not even Róisín would ignore a direct summons from her superior, and so with a body tight with tension, she turned to face Oswin and forced her head into a nod of greeting. "Oswin," she echoed, her voice carefully neutral.

How are you? She asked, and the dun girl hesitated. Not good was the true answer, but to give that sort of honesty would require some sort of explanation, and Róisín did not wish to divulge that much of herself to the woman she had slowly but fundamentally begun to see as a traitor. She did not wish to try and explain how the loneliness of cultivating no friends had left her adrift and uncertain if this was truly where she was supposed to be, or how she felt as though she was failing all of the sisters, all at once. Least of all would she explain how her family was suffering again, when the golden mare was spending half her time cuddled up to the man that had persecuted them last.

"I'm fine," she answered naturally after a pause that was just a moment too long. "And yourself? Not much longer, I see." She nodded toward the mare's grossly swollen stomach with only a tightening of her eye. Pregnancy terrified her, which was probably why she had never considered such a role for herself. "And little Ozzie?" In her haste to speed the interaction to it's inevitable conclusion, she offered multiple questions at once, and while her tone was overall polite, it noticeably softened as she spoke of Oswald. As much as she loathed Tyr and everything he stood for, little Ozzie meant the world to the dun girl.