The Lost Islands
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you better cool it off before you burn it out




r h a e l l a



As Rhaella stood there, her ears tuning out of a conversation that did not concern her, it nevertheless would never have occurred to her that this mare's sire, some 'Hollowpoint', had once been a rival of Dante's. Despite the relative tension and formality that was usual of any meeting between two strangers, there was no apparent animosity between the stallion or the copper-and-white mare. For this, Rhaella was thankful: there had been enough strained nerves this morning already.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between her companions casually as they exchanged pleasantries, as if searching for a moment to make her interjection, to add a morsel of chatter to the platter of conversation going around. But of course, she had nothing to add. She had no idea what they were talking about. Even if she had, Rhaella doubtless would not have said anything, for in her mind small-talk was false and useless: a triviality of the socially awkward islanders.

A better equine might have excused themselves, recognizing that Dante and Aria may have wished to better acquaint themselves over this mutual knowledge in private. But Rhaella was no such equine. I was here first, she thought grudgingly with one ear flicked back, almost indulging herself in a fantasy where this Aria attempted to eschew her from the conversation. Though the stranger-mare seemed perfectly polite thus far, a secret fire burned in Rhaella's fickle heart. Let her try.

Rhaella: the raging pacifist. Ever the paradox she was.



three : sooty flaxen chestnut sabino : saddlebred mix : 15hh
html, text, and character by shiva



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