'Calm down, would ya?!' the shadowy shape barks at her. The husky tone is strangely familiar to her delicate ears which perk forward despite her vocalized irritation, curious to put a face to the voice. From the woods a figure materializes, and immediately her ears are buried in her mane again, though she makes no move to get up from her spot. She'd almost forgotten about the young stallion and their chance encounter on the Ruins until he's standing in front of her again and apologizing for the whole thing. Not that his apologies make a lick of difference; there's no way his words can mend what's been done or salve the wounds she has taken over the course of the past few months. She'd give anything to be that stupid filly again, stranded on the Ruins, whose biggest worry was finding her way home to mom and dad again.
She just wants to be alone, but still the blue-eyed boy lingers. He looks leery of her like he expects her to lash out. Normally she might but her previous outburst has sapped what little emotional energy remains inside, and so all she does is curl herself back up tighter and try to ignore him, and the sick feeling inside her. If he's smart he'll get the hint, but either he's the dumbest guy in the world or the most stubborn because he hangs around, gently berating her like his banter will magically make her feel better. But there's no remedy for how she feels, no magic cure or pretty words that will make everything right in her world again.
But still he tries, and his persistence is admirable, if annoying.
There's no way for her to muster the will to snap at him when he asks if she's okay — do I look okay to you?. Mostly she's just tired, sad, defeated. Svenja offers no verbal response, just a subtle shake of her head, the ebony veil of her mane whispering across her neck and concealing her face as she turns away from him. But stubborn lout that he is, he keeps talking, assaulting her with questions about where she could go or who she could see.
"No," she says firmly, her tone low. "I can't go home. I can't," she tells him, voice dimming to a whimper. It's difficult to tame the whirlpool of emotions swirling in her breast. Just thinking of what might happen if she steps foot onto Tinuvel's shore again causes panic to rise inside her. Would Valka and Bacardi be upset about what had transpired between her and Drogon? Or simply stunned? Perhaps accepting, but in her clouded state of mind that seems such a thin chance she doesn't even really consider it.
Svenja wipes her cheeks against her knee to clear away the tears that blur her vision, small voice echoing out again as she gives him the only explanation she's willing to provide at the moment. "I did something bad, and I'm afraid my family will be mad at me."
It's an understatement — she's terrified and all she wants is to stay here for as long as she possibly can, until all this is behind her and she's free to forget it ever happened. But that's not possible, a little voice in the back of her head cruelly reminds her. The child that's likely growing in her womb now will never let her forget, even after it's come and gone. It'll always be a reminder of her mistakes, of the year her life was torn apart and changed forever. How can she accept or love something like that?
Drawing a shaky breath, the roan filly finally looks Nuka in the face, fixing him with a watery, plaintive look. "Sorry. You don't have to listen to me complain about my problems. I can fix them myself."
You know that's not true.
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