Meadow

The blunt words of the tiny mare ring true enough to elicit a barking laugh from the larger mare. She cannot help but feel a kinship with this stranger, though the petty ways of the majority of stallions are a lesser evil to others that Bagheera has known. The cruel oddities that surround war and chaos cause the misbehavior of unruly stallions to pale in comparison. Though the ebony mare will not speak as to her memories and the visible reminders she carries of her past, she likes to think that she would be able to offer assistance if the woman before her ever befell such hard times. While Bagheera has known the steely touch of an unforgiving leader, she has never been one to take oppression with quiet surrender. She has - and always will be - a warrior born of desolating fire and needlessly spilled blood.

A dip of her head acknowledges the other's answer. The darker mare is keenly aware that choice is a luxury seldom afforded to members of the so called fairer sex. She meets Azalea's gaze with her own cat-like eyes, allowing a brief moment of solidarity to pass before attempting an answer.

"Tha Islands offa many a choice - though I would say tha they only vary as much as ye desire." She pauses, caught in a fumbling of words, as she tries to convey her meaning. "If ye favor tha whims of a ruler, ye will have no trouble findin' one te whisk ye away. However.." She stops long enough to add a level of sincerity to her gentle tone. "...if ye seek a different life with a say inta things, tha Peak listens ta e'vreone's voice." She is awkward in her mangled attempt at recruitment, yet she hopes that the pleasant will at least give a second thought to the freedom afforded to the women than choose a life without the constraints of a tyrannical leader.