Shamwari had given her a lot to think about, and her second meeting with Ailill was still fresh on Faolain’s mind. She wanted to see Iscariot again, this time maybe without company; she was truly relieved he had made it home safely, and felt as though she had not done a very good job of expressing this in front of the audience of the Luthien stallion. She also felt the almost familiar ache of longing for Rivaini’s company as well, though she had known the copper mare would survive the swim from the Crossing. She would seek each of them out in time, but today she needed to think.

At the very peak of the island’s spine, Faolain meditated. She folded her slender legs beneath her and let her mind empty as she gazed at the waves far below, laced with whitecaps as the wind whipped the surface into a thin foam. She held fear deep within her gut for the safety of her companions and the security of their home, but she knew that fear without action was useless, so she worked to unravel the anxiety and save her energy for when the time came to act. As her eyes drifted aimlessly across the ocean, a tiny shape appeared in the water, and the black ‘Teke’s mind returned to her body. She watched the shape - what else would it be but a horse? - as it slowly approached the island. She was too far away to discern any features, so she did not recognize it. What were their intentions? One lone horse could not be much of a threat, could they?

But of course they could. She rose from her spot on the jungle floor and picked up a brisk trot along the path that lead down to the shore. She would not make the mistake of underestimating a newcomer, but she also could not risk approaching aggressively if aggression was not needed. There had to be balance. Faolain realized this was the first stranger she had greeted on the borders of her home, and she should have been more prepared, but the inky mare was… well, more preoccupied with planning than usual.

She flowed down the mountainside with much less tension than she held before meditating, though she would have liked to spend more time with her mind so peacefully blank. Time for that later, she supposed. She could hear the gentle sigh of the waves, and before her the jungle opened up; she spilled out of the dense green and halted in the beach grass, her dark eyes appraising the golden form of the mare before her. She did not recognize the woman, but her stance did not appear aggressive, and Faolain kept a respectful distance as she let out a nicker of greeting. The palomino appeared to be looking for someone; Faolain wondered if she associated with the previous Ridge herd, who had so far remained hidden except for her encounter with Ailill.

”Are you looking for Björn?" she asked, her tone neutral. The question seemed silly, but she did not want to assume.