Meadow

Faolain did not yet say so out loud, but the chestnut stallion was not the first she’d seen on this isle who appeared to be marked by semi-recent battles. Those were questions she knew she must ask with some form of delicacy, and so she did not bring the observation to light now, simply tucking away this new data in her mind for thought later. If she did not find out what happened from the friendly stranger, she would eventually get it from someone else.

It’s been quiet around here recently, he said, and the inky mare raised her slender neck to let her gaze sweep across the Meadow. "I suppose I don’t have much of a reference for what a normal amount of activity here is," she said. "Although it seems calm to me, based on what I’ve seen of other territories on the mainland." She turned back to face him again.

She could sense more so than see the discomfort in the chestnut’s stance when she asked about his leg, and she decided that she had perhaps been too forward with her curiosity this time, as she often was. She gave him a cheeky smile at his response, and accepted the change of subject.

"I had heard stories as a child," she said. "I didn’t believe them for a while. When I was a yearling, my herd migrated a different route through the desert than usual, and I lost them. My own fault, of course," she said, chuckling. She had missed them for a while, but only in the way one misses familiarity and routine. They had not been particularly special to her in their basic duties of keeping a foal alive. "I ran off after a pretty snake and could not find them upon my return. I spent the next several years as a nomad, learning about other cultures and meeting many horses. Then I heard the stories of the Isles again. Not children’s stories this time, so I decided I must see for myself it was true." She gestured with her head in a broad sweep across the visible land before them. "I’m satisfied with my findings, I think. I have not decided if I want to stay, or move on."

Faolain fell silent, knowing she had just practically told her life story, which she wasn’t sure if the red stranger would appreciate, but of course there were details she left out. Not important to finding the Isles, which was the main reason she had not mentioned them - the stallion had not asked - but many parts of her life were not exactly points of pride for the black mare.

"What about you?" she asked. "Did you journey here as well, or were you born on these Islands?" More personal questions. She had never been good at small talk.

FAOLAIN