The chill and exhaustion begin in equal measure just before the dark female approaches. She appears dark and well-built, every inch a valkyrie as she strides towards Lourdes with intention. She dips her head in greeting and Lourdes shifts ever so slightly, her sore ankles flexing as if to prove they could make a swift departure as needed. But the rest of her is still.
Her words are nice enough, her nicker comforting on Lourdes' most basic instinctual level, but still there is something about her; a commanding air, a sense of being sure of herself. Tired from her travels, the dappled mare finds herself unable to quite place the newcomer as a friend or foe, but is certain of what the other wants her to believe.
In any case, ignorance to threats had gotten her this far, hadn't it? The enemy you know and all that. She'd let plenty of predators into her herd, her space, her bed. And this one could even turn out to be nice.
Lourdes warms ever so slightly as the mare sidles closer to her, resisting the urge to dance away from the recently unfamiliar touch of another. She towers over Lourdes with the body language of a leader, and in that moment the delicate arabian knows that wherever the valkyrie leads her is where she'll lay her head tonight, good or bad.
Stock still, she quips, "You're certainly comfortable with strangers" quietly but with confidence. It is not an answer to the obvious claim, nor is it a "no." The commentary on her dampness and trembling she allows to pass--obviously she's cold. She's god damn freezing. Instead she responds back simply with her name, soft enough to stand in as an unspoken yes to the woman's claim. "Lourdes."
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