As the rain continues to pitter-patter upon her back, Brienne remains still and quiet in those moments, letting her blue eyes flick back and forth between the two young stallions as though searching for any hidden resemblances between them. She fancies that she sees some in the slope of their noses – and how she would die to have a beautiful, straight Roman nose like theirs – but little else, which leaves her to ponder how exactly they have the same dam. She has just about come to the conclusion that one of them must have been adopted when, at last, her deformity becomes the main topic of conversation.

She resists the urge to flinch, instead furrowing her brow with confusion as she meets the spotted colt’s gaze. After a heartbeat, she shakes her bent head back and forth, slowly and carefully (for sudden movements cause her skull to ache), to indicate that he is wrong. Even still, her mind is still procuring images of how she might have earned such an injury in this case, and chief among them is a picture of her running straight into a tree. The thought brings a small, shy smile to her grey lips.

Then there’s a sudden roll of thunder, and her heart all but explodes in fear. Blue eyes so wide they show the whites, she backpedals, cringing away from the duo until her hind leg catches on the root of a tree and she stumbles. To her surprise, she can feel a muzzle gentle on her flank, supporting her to keep her from falling. A petite black mare with the same splashes of white as Brienne steps from the trees a moment later, murmuring soothing sounds to her daughter, who is pressing her face into the mare’s side and trembling like a leaf.

“Ah,” Isoke says, nodding to the two young males with restrained friendliness. “So I see she’s not alone after all. I’m sorry to intrude, boys, I just wanted to check on her. How have you been getting on?” The dark mare smiles at them.