He is still half asleep when the sounds of someone on the move reach Azrael. He rouses, half-concerned, as the footfalls draw near; this is the purposeful march of someone on the hunt, which is alarming, but the sounds of deliberate hoofbeats clearly belong to someone quite small.

He doesn’t have much time to wonder; out of the jungle foliage pops a black-and-white mare wearing a furious expression, and as soon as she lays eyes on Azrael, all of that agitation is trained on him. She presses into his space, shoving her muzzle toward his, and Azrael instinctively jerks his head up out of her reach. He thinks she’s trying to bite him, and he takes a step back, but the engine in him is finally warming and he prepares for a fight by digging his heels in and holding firm. He sheds the cloak of sleepy stupor and begins to coil as though to strike back against the mare.

Instead of snapping teeth, Azrael hears words from her delicate lips. Confused, he pauses his defensive shove before it begins. Flowers? What is she talking about?

"What flowers?" he asks stupidly. "Most of the flowers here make you see crazy things, why would anyone eat them?"