Çiçek stares up at the sky for long moments. She’s watching the birds overhead, yes, but part of her is still lost in memory, her uncertain thoughts about the future peeking around the corners of her reminiscing. She doesn’t want to think about it now, something seemingly so far away… but the idea of having to tell Faolain she is leaving - for a season, for two, perhaps forever - fills her with dread. How can she explain it? The palomino worries there won’t be a way to break the news of her imminent departure that leaves everyone happy and satisfied, in the end. The thought of disappointing her slender black guardian, of seeing dismay and sadness breaking through her measured calm...

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to linger in that headspace for more than half a second. Her voice has startled someone else, someone she didn’t see coming down the path behind her, and Çiçek turns her head sharply towards the flash of movement in her periphery, relaxing some to find it is a small red mare, splashed with white and graceful in her carriage. Her eyes soften, and she tucks her head to her chest, smiling back as the mare approaches. She speaks, and Çiçek laughs a bit, the tinkling sound softened under the dark of the canopy. Her eyes drift up to the colorful shapes darting to and fro between the leaves, perked ears catching their endless chatter. “Yes,” she agrees, her voice gentle with admiration and tinged with awe. “My sire told me they would come, but this is my first time seeing it for myself.” She turns her face to look upon the mare once more. “I thought this place couldn’t get any more colorful, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised.”

Siobhan introduces herself, and Çiçek strides forward, closing the gap between them to stretch out her muzzle for an exchange of breaths. As her pale nostrils flare, capturing the chestnut’s scent, she recognizes it, having noticed it around but never truly known its source. She wonders, idly, if the foals she’s heard gamboling through the undergrowth are hers, for how often their perfumes have tangled together. Faolain and Rivaini don’t seem like the type to have graced the Ridge with children, at least not yet, and there are only so many horses in the Ridge to begin with. It would be rude to ask, though, and so she doesn’t. Instead, she grins, her dark eyes catching the dappled light of the sun and glowing honey-bright. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Siobhan,” she replies, her words smooth and easy on her lips. “My name is Çiçek.”

She pulls her nose back to its resting position against her breast. Her white tail swishes against her spotted skin, one hind leg cocking up, relaxed, and she sighs a bit before continuing. “My apologies for not introducing myself sooner,” she adds. “Faolain was so kind as to bring me to your shores this past summer. I’ve been… somewhat preoccupied since then.” Her mind flashes to a little cove, far down the mountain and along the curve of the beach, where white sand reached in a thin strip to the encroaching jungle and the ghosts of pink petals still lingered in the shadows.

Her heart warms in her chest, but she tries not to dwell, clearing her throat. She doesn’t want to try and explain her complicated predicament to this poor mare, and she doesn’t know, truly, how close she is with the guardians of the Ridge. Çiçek would hate for news of her bargain to reach their ears through the words of another. She will be open, and come to them honestly… just, not right now. She still has time to ignore it, and so she will, losing herself in Siobhan’s pleasant company.

“My parents met on this island,” she says, “and I wanted to see it for myself.” Çiçek glances at the wisteria blooms dancing above. “But I can’t tell if I like the environment or its inhabitants more.” The palomino turns her gaze once more to Siobhan’s elegant face, curiosity in her expression. “Have you been here long?” The question is innocent, unknowing in the weight it might carry for her new acquaintance. Çiçek is too worried about hiding her own secrets that she doesn’t stop to consider Siobhan might have some of her own, some that, like herself, she’d rather do anything than rehash here, in this moment, with the promise of light companionship and new possibility flitting like so many little birds between them.