Common

Her ears perk, instantly alert, as she hears someone call out and approach. The black stallion is much taller than she is, but she meets his eyes anyway, unafraid and almost challenging. It's not until he speaks that Stray appears to relax a little.

"Just fine," comes the cool, automatic answer, before the rest of Stray's brain catches up and remembers she's in a new land, with different people, and maybe there's no need to act this thorny immediately. Her stance softens as her attitude turns more to curiosity, now. Stray tilts her head, taking in the stallion's appearance. He has a gentle expression and his stance almost makes it seem like he's trying to look harmless. Is this what people act like here? She isn't sure whether to be suspicious or accept the gesture as genuine.

It might be the excitement of all this newness getting to her judgement, but for now, she's inclined to believe him. Stray takes a few curious steps forward, but does not close the distance completely. Some horses liked their personal space, and she isn't about to test the limits of this one's goodwill by getting too close--nor has her own wariness been assuaged enough to be so comfortable.

"I'm--" she cuts her off before she finishes the introduction. Why continue to call herself Stray? It was the name her adopted parents gave to her, and the name that others knew her by, but no one here will know that name anyway. Honestly, her parents didn't need to give her a name that let everyone know she was probably found abandoned as a foal in some desolate place.

"--Rusalka," she decides on impulse. Some kind of water spirit from the stories--the details always varied according to who was telling the story and what kind of story it was. But she likes the word, and she likes water well enough, so why not?

"Are you from around here?" Her tone has turned friendly, curious, a sharp change from her attitude at the beginning of their interaction. It's almost as if she's forgotten to be wary--but her dark eyes are bright, always watchful.