Meadow

She laughs, but the sound is canted and bitter at his mention of a chosen family. The little overo had given up on finding herself the sort of life other mares endured. Even as a young filly, abandoned to be raised by the sisters, she had never really believed that she was meant for a traditional herd. And if she were really honest, the odds of finding someone that didn't irritate her to the point of homicide were diminishingly small, and the prospect of that someone also finding her abrasive personality tolerable were essentially infinitesimal. Her tail lashed across the swell of her rump and she shook her head, disagreeing with his estimation of the danger. "It would not be them you would need to worry about, fox."

Ingrid had come to the isles with the assumption that she would find some new lesson or adage or story to bring home to her sisters. Some scrap of information or useful trivia that might help them further their own understanding of the world. Instead, she'd found a ragtag group of islands with nothing to offer except the glorification of chaos for the sake of chaos. And while Ingrid had little use for the idle cruelty, it seemed that Ma'alruin was in opposition to her very core.

Her nose wrinkled as he elaborated on why he enjoyed the bedlam, and she began to wonder if creatures such as him were the reasons why mothers warned their children of eyes in the dark, always watching, always waiting to pounce. Of beasts which prowled the world, feeding on the misery of others if not causing the pain themselves. She had never heard them described as red - which was usually the first adjective that rose to mind when she looked at him - but if Ingrid were really honest, they would have been right to assess his eyes as the most arresting feature.

"No," she murmured when he was done, the manic glitter in his eyes restored to the wet, inky darkness she was more accustomed to. "I don't suppose you have." Which was true enough, despite her having asked in the first place. Ma'alruin was not a creature that would likely belong anywhere at all, no matter how alike the souls around him were.

The challenge hung in the air between them, bait intentionally left before a wild animal in an effort to disguise the trap. Ingrid didn't fear being caught in his grasp - although she imagined that he was the sort to keep a satchel of exquisitely honed implements for when the mood for torturing struck him. No, when she did speak again - neatly sidestepping the proffered lure - it was less like a prey animal uncovering the scent of a predator and fleeing before getting caught and much more like a hunter laying a trap of their own in the path prey took to avoid the first snare.

"What are your goals then, roðinn?" Her head tilted inquisitively, the rim of those too-sharp golden eyes glinting like a speartip beneath the sun. "Belonging is said to be in the core of those that walk on four hooves," she murmured, her voice matter of fact, as though there was no dispute behind the purpose of their kind. "If not to belong, what is it you seek?"