If Xiomara had not been so wrapped up in memory, she would not have missed the obvious signs of another lingering in the air. But the vicious scream that echoes her own causes the blue roan to tense, her icy gaze snapping to the grey figure as it emerges from the cave. For a split second, her mind betrays her. Making her think Warsaw had come back from the dead. It is the feminine voice that snaps Xiomara into reality and quickly her ears pin, disappearing into her thick ebony mane. Her blood turns to fire and her lips peel back, ready to lash out with sharp words and possibly to taste the flesh of this insolent mare when the crashing coming through the vegetation snaps her attention away.


The red body that skids out of the trees has Xiomara taking a step back, her body instantly rising up just enough to try and strike out with both front hooves. But just before she delivers the blow, her icy eyes meet the familiar tiger gaze over her beloved red bird and she drops back down. Her hooves slamming into the frozen ground instead of the precious flesh of Ofelia.


The grey mare is instantly forgotten. A sea of emotion washing away the anger she had felt heating her blood that had now turned to ice. Ofelia; how she had dreamed of that beautiful face a thousand times. The delicate lines that were now pulled tight with worry; tears staining her cheeks darker. A breath could barely escape Xiomara; a fist now clenching her throat closed so that nothing could escape. Not a word, not a breath, and barely leaving room for her heart to even beat.


Before Xiomara could muster any words, the little mare is scrambling to her hooves. Her words laced with a fury that the blue roan didn’t know that Ofelia could even carry. Now all Xiomara could do is stare at the back that faced her, as if the little red mare were a ghost come back to life.