Meadow

She has never been trapped in circumstance that required the cajoling of others to join her purpose; she was always the pawn sent forth to battle. Quite literally she has fought and shed blood for a cause, though at that very specific moment in time all other options had been erased. The scent of rotted and decaying flesh has proven the most unforgettable odorous malady; the faces of fallen comrades the heaviest of ingrained images upon her sharp yet poisoned mind. Her ghosts, you see, were previously the stunning essence of life. Now all the specters do is linger, forsaking her peace for the loss of their own. Not even she can begrudge them for the insurmountable injustices they received.

She walks beside the champagne girl, listening absentmindedly to the commentary regarding her apparent new home. The anecdote about the place being different almost causes her to about-face but she resists the instinct. Hollow promises have landed upon dainty ears countless times - please forgive her if words do not prove to easily sway or capture her loyalties. She is as elusive as the panther to which her name pays homage.

Continuing onward, the ebony mare realizes that perhaps the other girl craves companionship. The nuances of friendship have long evaded Bagheera, and now she contemplates how she missed the cues. Perhaps she should make an attempt at conversation, however stilted it may prove. "The idea of a common vote is alluring." Speech and an attempt at positivity; is she having a stroke? She shakes the thought from her mind, causing the golden bangles within her ear and mane to jingle softly - another pitiful reminder of her sordid past.