There were chips of glass everywhere throughout the forest. One must tread lightly, so as not to awaken the bad memories that plague the minds of the people here.

Forever he travels the paths here, letting his hooves dig into the snow encrusted dirt, watching for something, anything, that might disturb the tentative quiet of the trees. Already he felt a fierce protectiveness of the people here, even though he only knew them by a collection of their faces, sprinkled throughout the trees.

Strangers, perplexed by the possibility of another attack, another uprising, had been frightened into the belly of the forest, receding further and further into the wilderness to find shelter. They had torn themselves from the edges of the land, leaving behind the stench of blood and letting less frightened creatures patrol the borders in the place of the roaned mare that had bid him permission to stay here.

The painted woman is no different.

From a distance, she curls and spits, like a cornered cat, she turns on him with angry words. The red beast is barely taken aback, but twists his ears towards his neck in a show of being startled, still keeping a moderate distance between the two of them. He could see that the war had been hard on her, and all he knew of such wickedness was the remnants of battle and the harsh way that all eyes turned on him. It was a mix of hate and fear, and it was a wonder Persephone had told him to earn the trust of the people here.

“Vercingetorix, a guest of Persephone’s.” A guest for now, only allowed to stay for as long as the queen let him. She could cast him out with so much as a flick of her tail- and he would respect her wishes. For the good of the forest- for the good of her people. “You look upset.” He observes, giving her the opportunity to open up, or to dismiss him.