Fjöður relishes in the sweet scent of the green blades, letting it dull the rest of her senses. The tobiano does not perceive herself as being dramatic, of course. She has been through much; her body is unused to struggling through loose sand and fighting against an ocean current. Her collapse into the fresh meadow is partially a result of fatigue, as well as pure relief at seeing something other than tall sand dunes and expansive waters.
Lost in her reverie, she does not hear Bhaskara's impatient request. Neither does she hear the distant cries of her name. Only when the dead weight slams into her does Fjöður snap back to reality. Someone is practically on top of her and tugging at her mane. She grunts as she struggles to orient herself. Snapping her teeth at her assailant, she spits, "Get off!"
The other horse turns to yell at Bhaskara, and Fjöður pins her ears. Fully aware of her surroundings now, she shakes her shaggy forelock out of her eyes to see - "Þoka!" She had thought her friend had been lost to the ocean forever. Based on the other's reaction, she guesses Þoka had felt the same about her. "Hey, don't yell at her. She's helped me plenty." She glances apologetically at the bay mare - gods, this place had made her go soft - and introduces the two. "Bhaskara, this is Þoka. Þoka, Bhaskara."
Seeing the tears on her dear friend's face, her own eyes begin to prickle. She steps forward to nudge with her muzzle at the blue roan's cheek. It feels like eons have passed since they had been separated. Pressing herself against her friend, she once again speaks to Bhaskara. "It only the two of us. We have traveled together for a long time and...been through a lot." This is almost too much information for Fjöður's comfort, and she presses her lips together before she reveals any more.