Falls

ARSINOE

For all she shadowed her father, learned to rule at his side, met nearly every adult that came into the Badlands, Arsinoe hasn’t met many other fillies her age. It’s exciting to be faced with one now, hard to remember all the rules and lessons and not run up excitedly to say hello. Since she was the only one without a mother, she was relatively isolated growing up at Rafe’s side. She’d met Azalais, her half-sister, once or twice, and Arsenic too. Some of the younger fillies, especially both of Klara’s daughters. But she’d never had anyone else her age to interact with.

Until Khan, of course. Even better, since his mother left him too, he understood. (Although…not really, she knows now. Because if he’d understood, he would have taken her with. Instead, he left her behind, and now she’s alone. Arsinoe doesn’t know if she can ever forgive him for that.)

So the young, enthusiastic spotted red filly is a change. Even the biting cold of the wind and the mist from the raging waterfall soaking her, making her shiver, can’t lessen how interesting this is. But when the stranger says she’s from the Peak, an opinion is formed instantly. Arsinoe’s ears half-pin and her green eyes narrow before she controls the reaction, settling back into a neutral but polite, if a little vapid expression. She’d watched Bagheera try to fight her father, she’d seen him talk with Oswin when she came in with accusations and harsh words, watched Klara chase her own mother away in defense of him.

So this filly, she can’t be trusted. She can’t be an ally - not if she’s of the Peak, a group of women who have set themselves firmly against her own herd.

But Arsinoe knows how to do this - knows how to fake it, how to be whatever they want to see. She can be an eager friend, a wanderer. She can be whatever this filly wants, if it gets her closer to Khan and the Prairie.

“I guess there’s enough to share,” Arsinoe demurs, offering a smile in return. She quirks a confused smile when she’s asked about the Lagoon, but remembers she’d come up from that way. Obviously a filly from the Peak could guess that if she’s heading North, she’d come via the Lagoon. The stranger knows the geography of this main island much better than Arsinoe ever intends to. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I live on Salem - in the Badlands. Have you heard of it?” Arsinoe hates how off putting the name is, how it doesn’t capture the rugged beauty of her home. “It’s not actually bad,” she adds quickly. “I don’t really know why they call it that.”

Arsinoe glances around them quickly, wondering if anyone else from the Peak is coming. But there don’t seem to be any herd-hating mares lingering about the edges of where they stand, so she relaxes a little bit. “I’m actually going to Luthien - I ran away, to find my brother. But I didn’t think I could make the swim without sleeping first. I didn’t expect it to be so cold here, and I’m exhausted.” Arsinoe confesses, tone conspiratorial. “I’m Arsinoe - who’re you?”