Kolfinna’s arrival with Fell had not escaped the nameless blue mare’s notice, so she gave her no trouble beyond an occasional glance or two. The blue mare had gravitated between the inky stallion and his sweet-natured counterpart, Kohelet. Periodically, the mare could have been seen offering some good-natured wrestling or games of chase with the pair’s young son, Khoshekh. These sessions were usually short-lived and careful; the last thing that the blue mare desired was to accidentally hurt the colt, or play too roughly to the point of angering Kohelet or Fell.

She’d been near the rest of the herd napping when the sound of movement had caught her attention. Her ears perked forward at the muted thumps of hoof falls and her eyes shot open. She caught a glimpse of Fell headed for the shoreline of his bay with the grey mare following some distance behind. The mare was a curious creature if nothing else, and so she, too, would have followed. The pony mare carries her head in a relaxed position; one which was often associated with travel, as opposed to play or in an effort to show off how impressive she was to a potential enemy, or threat.

Things became more and more interesting with each development she discovered, which included the gold and white mare who kept so very near to the shore’s line. The blue mare was not the sort to spy, so she does not keep a good distance back to listen or observe, nay. Instead, she waltzes right up to the trio and joins them, catching only the last bit of Kolfinna’s inquiry. The pony mare takes a quiet moment to look upon the remarkable features of Oswin. She is quite beautiful, the nameless mare decides. Although she does not recognize this woman, she recognizes her scent almost immediately. Or, at least, the scent of her peaks.

This sours the blue mare’s mood almost immediately. By now, she has figured out that Fell does not speak. Not out of lack of desire, but some sort of physical ailment. She’d spent some degree of time wondering if this had been a punishment from the gods for some transgression in a previous life, or if they’d simply enjoyed adding to the considerable amount of challenges they already face in this life.

The ebony threads of her tattered tail splash against her mismatched hocks, and rogue strands of ebon and ashy mane flickered with the breeze that sighed past. The blue mare looked quite accustomed to Tinuvel already; her mane is long, laced with thick waves, and looks quite heavy against her dense neck. Her roan coat is not short with a healthy sheen, but thick, shaggy, and dappled with numerous bite marks. Her overall appearance suggests she’s been here for a while, and that she’s either a low-ranking mare or, she’s the sort of personality who isn’t afraid to throw hooves.

So there the four of them stood: divided into factions with a tenuous, delicate peace between them. A hot breath would escape her two-toned nares, and the blue mare would stomp a hoof against the shoreline with an audible crunch as she holds her head as high as she can manage without over-extending herself. “ Well then, “ her accented breath would cut the air. Her words seemed to roll with each syllable, like a northern raider, “ What business brings the Peak to my hearth unannounced? “ she barely seems to ask -- one could easily mistake the line of inquiry as a demand.