Meadow

Vanya had not expected to feel so vulnerable as she waited. After months of being island-bound, and then more of being tied at the hip to Drogon, she felt as though she no longer knew what to do with herself. Not so long ago she had floated across the common lands as though she owned them, pushed by her whims of fancy. She had flirted then as though her life depended on it, drawing her strength from the covetous looks the boys threw her way when she danced with another.

Now though, she felt off-kilter. It wasn't a lack of confidence as it had been when she had first found that she was pregnant. No, Vanya was well assured by the hungry look in Rougaru's eyes on their last meeting that she was still beautiful. What struck her was how alone she was. No one flocked to her as they had in her youth. Minutes dragged into hours, and she found herself strangely homesick for the close press of the jungle and the constant promise of company, if she ever deigned to seek it out.

Thankfully, she is not left alone forever, although she had considered going home to nurse her wounded pride when the painted stallion trotted into view. At first glance it was hard to tell if he was truly attractive, owing to the seawater still dripping from his multi-colored coat. But she arched the elegant draw of her neck all the same and eyed him with appreciation, a small smile brushing across her lips.

"No, of course not." She offered sweetly, dipping her dished face slightly. She judges from the fact that he has asked if she would mind that he considers himself a good guy, and generally, she knows, good guys find a strong approach suspicious. They loved a damsel in distress, a girl that needed rescuing. And while she did enjoy her time with Rougaru, she was tired of playing second fiddle to the coarse mares he held so dear.

As he stepped closer, she did the same, offering her soft charcoal muzzle to his for a tender exchange of breaths. A small smile returns to her lips as she withdraws, and she expertly ducks her gaze away from his as she steps back to her place. After a moment she looks back to him, trying to gauge his mood.

"My name is Vanya," she offers after a moment, flicking the long strands of her tail so that they wrap around her black stockinged hinds. She knows that she could continue with asking the questions and seizing the power of the conversation, but she offers it to him instead. Perhaps if she plays her cards right, she can still earn the admiration from this pinto stallion that will eventually lead to her true purpose.