Even now, she isn’t sure what to think of the stallion, Cinnamon. He is kind - and unlike her last companion, she never gets the sense that he is constantly hiding something behind pretty conversation and sideways glances. She still has her moments of unease when the whispers get louder and more persistent, warning her not to fall for the tricks of the beast lest he break her like her father broke her time and time again - and still does sometimes, though only in her dreams these days.

But those whispers get easier to ignore with each day that passes as hopeful affection takes root in her heart, an affection that she’s taken to showing in small - perhaps insignificant? - bursts. A nudge, the occasional brush of her hip against his own...

Silly girl… It is like a sliver of cold ice down her spine, an unpleasant surprise that rears its ugly head. ”I’m not listening to you,” she bites out, her ears flattening as she starts to hum to herself, dipping her head to take a bite of sweet grass for distraction. The sound of her own voice and the chewing effectively drown out any retort her constant companion might’ve had, and she smiles - satisfied with her small victory. She won’t let the monster in her mind taint her happy thoughts of Cinnamon, who she had come to consider a friend.

Maybe more than a friend, but those sorts of feelings are complicated and she doesn’t understand them clearly, so she brushes them aside for the simpler title of friendship that doesn’t leave her floundering in self-conscious doubt. It’s times like that when the needling voice wins out and she recoils from Cinnamon, afraid to face the pain of rejection, a pain she’d known intimately since her childhood. No, it is best that they remain friends and any other feelings of affection she has for him stay locked up deep, deep down.

Nevermind that she’d begun to notice his short absences more and more in recent days - mostly in the mornings - when she’d have a few silent moments to herself and the insecurities would creep back in. This morning is no different, and as she grazes, her ears twitch, constantly searching for the sound of his return.

Instead, it is his call that reaches her and she turns toward the sound, curiosity pulling her towards him.

You should use these morning disappearances to flee, insolent fool, says the snake, but she simply lifts her head in indignation, following the direction from which her friend’s call had come, toward the little familiar clearing he often slept in - not far from where she herself had taken to spending her nights. ”Good morning,” she says in her soft soprano, coming close enough to bump her nose against his cheek before pulling away, allowing this one small sign of affection to let slip. ”I think I may have overslept,” she muses, shaking her head to loosen her sleep-tousled mane. Grey strands tumble around her dappled shoulders, perhaps more messy than they had been before her attempt at fixing it.

It’s a sign of how comfortable she’s gotten here that she allowed herself to oversleep at all, and she’s not quite sure how to feel about that. For now, she tucks it away for later thought, instead focusing the whole of her attention on Cinnamon, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face, curious as to what he might’ve called her for - though, not at all disappointed by the company.

(sorry this is a bit choppy! Fussy little one had me coming back and forth so I might’ve lost my train of thought a time or two D: )