Meadow

It was not the first time Rhaena had snuck away from the Hills, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Her mother's refusal to show her the world had been the last straw for the adventurous young filly. She'd left Drow amongst the herd, knowing he knew how to keep his mouth shut, or at least was too stupid to rat her out. Her brother was smiles and sunshine in a way that she was not. Maybe she had been at his age but she took a bit too much after her stern-faced mother. Even the pale face and pale body of her father could not hide the wild silver of her hair.

The morning was, relatively, quiet and Rhaena found herself exploring the Meadow. She'd learned rather quickly there were places she was meant to avoid. The North and the South, along with something called the Commons. Eavesdropping had come in handy. (Something her mother was equally at skilled at.) Even the smell of the sea on her sparse desert coat could not hide the scent of Salem. She wore it like a badge of honor.

She was starting intently at a rabbit, tail flagged and nostrils quivering. It was small, fuzzy, brown, and cute. It was far different than the desert hares she had seen scuttling across the Hills. They were long, angular, and just as ornery as she was. Momentarily distracted by something she deemed 'adorable,' despite the fact that she'd never admit to it, Rhaena is startled when the grey spotted stallion draws closer. He seems as off in in his own world as she was, but curiosity turns her toward him and she stalks closer.

"Why's your face look like that?" It was impolite and far less delicate than someone with tact would have been. She cocks a hoof and flicks an ear out to the side. The sour expression on her face and the darkness in her eyes was so very much her mother as she looked over the strange man. He smelled weird, but that was the last of her concern. A nicer way to put it may have been "are you alright" or "is something bothering you" but Rhaena had not been taught tact, or maybe she just hadn't reached that lesson yet.

Her tail snapped against her haunches and she snorted, drawing closer with the stomp of indignant feet. She was as fearless as she was brash. Rhaenys, too, had been fearless of things bigger than her. Nyimara had shoved her to the dirt over and over until she learned; but her hesitance to do the same to Rhaena had left the young princess with nothing to fear and everything to leer at.