Though Iscariot could never quite find peace or comfort amongst strangers, his bounding heart and anxious thoughts did begin to settle the longer that he interacted with the young pair. Children, at least, did not tend to judge in the same way that their elders did. They might see differences, but did not necessarily perceive them as being ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ - and did not sort individuals into piles as Roisin and Akadi had done with the feathers. For the first time since he’d left home, the perlino Andalusian felt as if he could be himself without the presence of Rivaini or his friend Faolain nearby. It was refreshing, and the smile that had initially been strained had long since softened, becoming as genuine as the light-hearted joy he felt.

No light could exist without darkness, however. Iscariot could not help but to notice that the younger filly - whose paling bay coat reminded him so much of his sibling - seemed uncertain, though she concealed it well. As a child who had grown up with the same bashful affliction, the ghostly stallion’s heart went out to Akadi. It was a comfort to know that at least she had Roisin to keep her company, as he had always had Rivaini. Someone to be the bright fire to the quiet, reflective depths of their water. Whether or not they were truly related by blood was irrelevant; the silver bay was only his half-sister, but he had never seen her as anything less than a whole. And she had never treated him any different for the limits his body imposed on him, except to protect him with every fibre of her being.

His reflections were short-lived; the golden filly was quick to grab his attention with her almost-command, spoken in an unconsciously imperious tone of voice that again reminded him of Rivaini. Iscariot could have laughed from the sheer joy that it brought him to see his sibling reflected in the determined expression of the dun filly, but instead he bent to his assigned task with determination, if not particular skill. The way that Roisin deftly wound the feathers into Akadi’s tail made it seem easy, but when he tried they didn’t seem to want to stick. More than once the feathers fluttered down to the ground as soon as he released his hold on them, describing twists and pirouettes in the air as they fell. Their graceful dance would have been beautiful to watch if he wasn’t so frustrated.

Finally, he discovered that by twirling the hair around the shaft of the feather before he released his grip, they held firmer. A vigorous run might still dislodge a few, but he was confident that the ones he placed along the base of the filly’s dark mane would hold through even that. Of course, that meant that the ones in his own creamy hair were probably around for the longer term as well - which would undoubtedly make for some awkward questions from Rivaini later on. But just let her try to make fun of him. Maybe he would teach the fillies how to play tag in the way she’d done as a child when she sought to really get him all bothered - the kind where ‘tagging’ involved a wet swipe of the tongue, preferably in the face.

At Roisin’s question, Iscariot took a step backward as if to take in the full effect of the additions they’d made to Akadi. His pale head tilted to one side, and his pink lips pursed as he appeared to consider seriously. The perlino didn’t truly believe he had an eye for this sort of thing, but he was so caught up in the game that it no longer mattered. “She is, but with our manes and tails so full of color, our bodies are going to look plain in comparison. I wonder if there’s something we can use to decorate our fur,” he mused, his gaze sweeping over their surroundings as if hoping to find the answer amongst the dense green foliage. And as luck would have it, he actually did. With a small exclamation of joy, the pale stallion grabbed a blue flower from one of the piles, and carried it back to Roisin - moving so quickly that his limp was briefly evident.

“Hold still,” he warned the dun girl, unconsciously mimicking her own confident, commanding tone. He pressed the flower into her flank, then dragged it to describe a semi-circular shape on her coat. The blue mark was faint - barely visible - but the small success encouraged him to try again, applying a little more force this time. Now it was clearer, and he let the crushed flower fall to the ground before turning to Akadi with a nicker of excitement. “War paint!” He announced proudly. And then, unable to disguise the hopeful note in his voice, he sought her opinion by asking. “What do you think?”