Abigail’s ears flicked, listening back toward the jungle and then forward again as the stallion spoke. Her eyes narrowed, just slightly, and her chin dropped an inch or so from the haughty position she’d previously held it in. Abigail knew she could not listen to what he said even if a small touch of doubt within her feared he may be right. Making a small noise of stubbornness, Abigail shook her head, setting her white hair and black bangs at either side of her neck and face. “He constantly visited Crossing Isle to search for new family members.” She wondered at times if he also might have left Atlantis to search for Georgiana or Isobel, but those were personal family affairs she felt this stranger should not be privy to. “You can’t honestly tell me that every time you leave to recruit that you check in with your mares first.” Not that it was entirely an unheard of practice, and he could very well be the sort of stallion that did, but Abigail was grasping for straws to try and keep herself confident that Braylen had not left her out of the blue without a word. It was why she held out that he must have gotten into some trouble, or perhaps her scent had been stale here when he returned and he’d left thinking she’d abandoned him… oh, she hoped not!
Her eyelids blinked as her blue eyes refocused on him once he’d complimented her. Her ears turned back and then forward. She knew she should thank him for his compliments, but her anger against him (maybe unwarranted, for all he’d done was come across a territory that had no stallion and decided to settle there) kept her from commenting. Instead, Abigail’s eyes narrowed and she swallowed back her childhood teachings that she should always be polite to gentlemen when they were polite to her. Oh, if her aunt could see her now, she’d scold Abigail until her ears bled!
Wariness sprung inside her when he came closer, close enough that she might feel the heat from his skin and smell his cologne deep within her nose. She turned her ears back and eyed him, waiting for any sign of aggression that would then spark her own. Abigail weighed his words as he began to walk off. If he tried anything funny she supposed she could always book it deep within the Ridge and call out for Jabberwocky. The draft stallion had been friendly when they met and spent time together in the Ridge; surely he would help defend her if necessary (not that Abigail was afraid of delivering some kicks herself!).
Finally, after a brief moment of consideration, Abigail then moved forward. After she’d caught up to him she gazed at him curiously, wondering. “Why here?” Had it been because he thought it was an easy target or had he been pulled to the beaches and jungles of Atlantis? “Why’d you want this place?”
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