Mercedes wasn’t entirely sure how to react. The mare hadn’t shown any aggression, nor submissive behavior, so Mercy was a bit lost; she had nothing to react to besides the name the mare gave her.

She was saved somewhat when the other mare, Sylvia, asked for Mercy’s own name. She blanked, stood silent for a moment, then blurted, ”Mercedes. As far as I’m concerned, this is my territory, but the stallion here thinks otherwise.” Unsure as to why she had felt the need to explain that, Mercedes was glad at least that she hadn’t rambled.

The pale mare dropped her head to the stream, and Mercy stood and watched, shifting her weight nervously. ”Are... Are you lost?” she asked. Surely Sylvia must be lost, to be wandering around this winter-encased forest. Then again, wasn’t that exactly what Mercedes was? Lost? In some respects, yes, she was. The red-white stallion she had encountered here was the only other equine she had ever spoken to. She had never been to this place, this island, before having been washed here in a storm. Didn’t that make her lost?

Well. She shook off the strange feeling brought onto her by that revelation and looked toward the cliff face, of which she could see a narrow sliver resting on the tops of the trees. ”There’s shelter in the rocks, if you need it. You’re welcome to it,” she said, disregarding the feeling of disobedience that came with welcoming this newcomer into the territory without knowing if the stallion would be comfortable with it.
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