my waves meet your shore, ever and evermore;

The strange stallion jumps even more than Fearne or Fiadh do at the shrap little sound, flinching back like he’s been hit. He tenses and looks around, like some unseen threat must have sneezed rather than Fearne’s rather poorly-timed daughter. She wants to be angry at first, wants to leap to the defense of Fiadh but he doesn’t move to strike. It had seemed so certain her own body is thrumming with adrenaline. She isn’t much good in a fight, but she would last long enough for Fiadh to flee. Surely someone here would secret away one little child, protect her as their own. But the worst does not come to pass, and the strange trio all stand deathly still.

He is afraid, clearly, tensed and ready to react to whatever the threat is, but he doesn’t actually try anything. Fearne forces herself to stay calm, to not react. What sort of life does he live that one little sneeze can have him expecting violence?

It must not be an easy one, and she feels for him - not pity, but sympathy. Whatever it is, she waits with baited breath for words. An apology, a scolding, something other than his warm brown eyes meeting her own. Nothing comes, and she cocks her head in confusion. Aries, at least, had always been willing to talk her ear off. Half the time she assumed he simply liked knowing she had to be there and listen, took her for a captive audience. This stallion doesn’t do the same, instead staying eerily quiet. “Mama,” she whispers, watching closely. There isn’t really a point to the vocalization, just proof she is uncomfortable.

Fearne offers Fell a glance, rolls her eyes conspiratorially and follows along when he gestures back over his shoulder to the trees. So, he doesn’t think she needs to be talked to…he isn’t wrong. She’d agreed to come here, and even been relieved to have found somewhere so easily (the Common is miserable, and must be more so chock-full of desperate others mid winter). “Thank you for showing us around,” Fearne says, as she follows along behind. She’s not seen hide nor hair of another mare here - maybe that was why he wanted a two for one deal? If his numbers are already thin, it makes sense to gain something out of whatever trade she stumbled into. “Are there other mares here?” She asks, curious and polite. Fiadh has forged ahead, is darting through trees and stomping through snowdrifts, all happy optimism. They didn’t get snow on Salem, and apparently her daughter is much better suited to the chill than the heat of the sands. Fearne imagines the same will be true of her. A fresh start - things can only get better from here.