Meadow

It had been a long time since Faolain felt like being social. It was not in her nature to be particularly communal for its own sake, though she was well aware of the opportunities to learn from others’ experiences. Sometimes it felt like playing a part, and sometimes it did not. It was never disingenuine, but her connections to others were rarely natural and most of the time she had to consciously pilot her interactions and build relationships with scrutiny. She never pretended to be someone she was not; she knew it was a common phrase to say that one wears a mask to hide their true self. Faolain’s true face was not hidden; rather it was paralized, and she had to pull the muscles manually to form the expressions. It felt sometimes like Faolain was both the puppet and the puppeteer; sometimes the strings were easy to pull and she did not have to think about them, and other times they were too heavy to bother with.

Today was an easy day. After Atlantis disappeared behind her, the weight of her responsibilities began to lift, and she felt relief. It would be much easier to return to her home later, after this rest, and shoulder the mantle once again. She felt light, almost giddy, and the perfume of the flowers and of the golden mare in the Meadow with her were soothing. Even when the tobiano stallion approached, she turned to greet him with an almost warm expression and a small smile. He was so much taller than her that normally she may have begun to calculate ways in which she would either best him in a fight or escape one should he attack. Today, she didn’t bother. He looked friendly, and she was confident in her instincts and strength.

Nice to see others taking advantage of the clear day, the stallion said. "Rain is good for the land, but sun is good for the soul," she responded. "And no, you are not interrupting." She offered another reserved smile to both the mare and to the stallion. His tone was light, flirtatious. Faolain did not know how to flirt, or what to do on the receiving end of such an interaction, but it was pleasant all the same.

I’m Solomon, of the Cove, the painted stallion said, settling into a comfortable position that Faolain almost immediately mimicked. Not that she needed to seem less threatening, but the slim black mare knew she had the tendency to appear stiff. She chuckled at Çiçek’s playful response. "Faolain, of the Ridge," she said. "You both must have lovely homes in the summer," she joked, gesturing to the field of flowers surrounding them, then addressed Solomon with an uncharacteristically cheeky grin. "I’ve never seen the Cove. Do the wildflowers compare, or is that why you’re here?"

Her sleek tail swept across her flanks as she turned her amber gaze once more to Çiçek. "Your name is beautiful. Were you born on the Islands, or did you follow the stories here from the Mainland?" Faolain offered a curious smile, shifting her attention between her two companions. She considered herself lucky to have stumbled across such pleasant new company on the rare day she had actually wanted it.