Common

He neither skittered nor leapt across the icy tundra upon which they stood, but meandered close like a lost puppy seeking warmth, all while fearing rejection. For a stallion of his size, he seemed surprisingly mild and she found herself doubting his intentions despite the vanilla flair of his arrival. She wondered if he would whimper if she struck out at him, but swallowed down the thought. She'd come here to write her future. What story ever began with kicking the meek? She'd be the villain before she ever figured out who she was as the protagonist.

As Ingrid waited for him to creep closer, she allowed herself to passively study him. He was the color of the sun itself on its morning ascent, nearly white but tinged with gold that was undeniable against the true purity of snow about his fetlocks. He was no northerner such as she - but he was no desert stallion either; faint feathering lingered at his hocks, and there was enough bone to him to suggest that he could handle a fight or two, an assumption further backed by the faint scars that littered his coat. All in all, he was handsome, despite his awkwardness, and she was annoyed with herself for even acknowledging it.

She would not allow herself to be buffaloed by good looks like a heartstruck young filly; not even for the sake of her own story. Or, so she hoped.

Ingrid's head lifts as he begins to speak, but she finds herself silent when he finishes, unsure of what to make of his observation. Eventually, after appraising him for a long moment she takes a deep breath and decides to humor him. Maybe this was his first time. Maybe he had stagefright.

"Snow generally does that, yes," she offered drily without lifting her gaze from him. She waited a moment for the questions to eventually come, and when they did not, Ingrid found herself in a predicament she had not expected. Carrying conversations had never been her particular strength; up until now, she had sustained herself as a largely solitary creature whose social needs could often be met by idle conversations with strangers she'd likely not see again. The prospect of having to continue speaking with someone day after day, month after month, significantly upped the ante.

"Did you come here to sightsee, or do you plan to introduce yourself sometime soon?" A little sharper than necessary perhaps, but maybe if she cut to the quick she'd get to the heart of who he really was faster. So far, all she knew of him was that he didn't seem inclined to attack her and apparently had no great familiarity with snow. All in all, not much to go off of.