There is a sense of seeking and comradery she felt in the mare as she lingered closer. Her dark eyes are searching and Nova can feel them upon her dark skin as though her gaze were winter's grasp. Despite herself she shivers against winter's cold grip. She had always told herself that much like Warsaw, the island favored the cold hearted and well, Nova was far from it. Heat boiled her arabian skin and it made life among the tall reaching fir, cedar and spruce trees less than desirable for a mare more acclimated to the wide open expanse of desert dunes. Inwardly she smiles at the mare's sudden loss for words. It was clear that she had expected Nova to turn her rump towards her with some heartless response, to know that she had unsettled her was somewhat rewarding in her mind's eye.

Nonetheless, as the small pangere mare speaks, Nova turns her silver blue gaze upon her, lifting her own muzzle from the feeble grasses to let her gaze settle upon the mare. She seemed kind, her voice gentle and alluring as she offered her name and inquired casually about Nova's own. She had not forgotten how easily Warsaw dismissed her when the herd had gathered around him, it was clear he did not mind keeping her at a distance, as though she were some pretty little trinket he was not quite ready to toss aside. Defiance clouds her vision for a moment but she gives her proud head a toss, pushing aside any lingering images of the grey stallion and his dark queen. Unusually long black tail flicks lightly back and forth against foal swollen barrel as the mare took a single step towards her new companion, "Ylva..." she repeats, letting the strange syllables of the mare's name linger upon her tongue. It was foreign to her ears, pretty but not one she was familiar with. She dips her small muzzle, a single ear angled towards her now as interest pricks. She follows the mare's gaze to the two small sleeping foals nearby, wondering for a moment why a mother would not have named her foals. Paper thin nostrils flare as she inhales the foals scents. While Ylva's scent hung heavily around them now, there was an underlying odor that not even she was familiar with. "They are not yours?" she asks, her curious voice almost timid in delivery. It was not her place to pry but curiosity clung to her easily.

"Forgive me, my name is Nova." she says turning her gaze once more upon the pangere mare. A knowing smile plays upon her lips at the mare's words. "Yes it is hard to make friends under the rule of a tyrant." she hisses, venom soaking her words. Instinctively she gazes about her, almost hoping that Warsaw or his lackey queen was within earshot but of course it was just the four alone in the small clearing.

Almost immediately she felt guilty. She did not know the mare's true loyalties, perhaps she was one of Warsaw's spies? Perhaps like herself, just another trinket in his list of broodmares. An apologetic smile curves her lip upward, "Forgive me." she murmurs softly.