It had taken every single ounce of her bravery to leave the safety of the verdant green-rolling alpine meadow of the Peak that has been her home for so many years now. But Hollis had done it, intending to venture out to the Falls once more. It is safe enough there that she can remain safe, but also to let her feel like she’s pushing herself. And maybe (hopefully) she will find someone to interact with.
The Peak has been so achingly empty lately. All those she came to know - Bagheera and Oswald and Oswin, Roisin and all of the others who let her quietly, safely exist within the security of their borders are gone.
Hollis has never been a particularly talkative mare, but there is something to be said for the companionship of others, even when quiet and distant. So that loneliness, the eerie silence of the Peak so near to Spring has her heading for the Falls.
Only it is much too late when Hollis realizes she made a wrong turn, that somehow she’s crossed fully into the border of the Commons. She freezes as soon as she notices, taking a shaking, panicked breath. Even knowing that as a member of the Peak she cannot be forced to go elsewhere, she hates being here. The idea that a stallion will approach her, demand her presence in a way so reminiscent of her frenzied flight to these islands that she feels a bit like her breath cannot even come.
There is rustling ahead, and the dreaded sound of heavy footsteps. Hollis is shaking at this point, frozen with indecision. Does she continue on? Just push past whoever it is and make for her original destination? Or maybe she should turn and flee - but there is no guarantee, of course, that behind is any safer.
So after a few moments of panic, Hollis decides she has to keep going - the path is too densely surrounded to allow for a detour, and it is better to have the threat at her face than at her back, right?
With bated breath, she turns down the last corner of the winding path, and comes face-to-face with….a mare? And one badly injured at that. “Oh,” Hollis breathes out in surprise, blue eyes going wide as she takes a nervous half-step back and tosses her head in distress. Whoever had beat this mare so thoroughly must have been a formidable enemy - because even though the red and white-spotted mare is limping, she is well-muscled and scarred. Hollis is willowy and soft, dainty in a way that belies her inexperience, the near polar-opposite of the mare before her.
After living so long in the Peak, surrounded by warrior-women who make it clear even rogue Lagoon stallions or pushy territory leaders are no match for them, Hollis has come to recognize the hallmarks of a fighter. There is something in the way the stranger carries herself, unbothered and unconcerned even when she looks like a stiff wind could knock her over that speaks to confidence. Confidence like that? Well, in Hollis’ experience, it only comes with the capabilities to back it up.
“That looks terrible,” Hollis breathes out, shocked gaze trailing over the scrapes and the swollen, useless foot the mare favors. “Who – who did this to you?” She glances around in concern, shuffling nervously even as her ears pin back. Is he lurking around the corner? The beast from every one of her nightmares, a faceless stallion come to kill her and whoever she finds unlucky enough to be close by?
Hollis doesn’t wait for the mare to answer, taking a half-step forward, extending her muzzle in concern. “It isn’t safe for you here - we need to go back. My sisters, they can protect you. I don’t—I can’t fight. But the others can; you’ll be safe with us.” Hollis tries to urge the mare along, to press the need for haste. Until they’re across the border safely, this mare is free to be used and discarded at the whims of whoever finds them. “Please,” she adds, voice shaking with fear. “I don’t - I don’t want whoever did this to find us– I mean you. To find you.”