until the lion learns how to write

The sound of someone approaching drew her gaze and she watched as the painted figure made it's way in her direction. Once, she might have looked upon every single soul that approached her with suspicion, but life with Bacardi had given her the ability to let some of that go. Thus, as she looked at the boy who gave every indication of belonging either to Bacardi or to his family, she was able to coax a tentative smile onto her lips.

"Not really," she answered with a wry, embarrassed laugh, ears tilting back. "Bacardi claimed me a few years ago... I just had to travel for a while."

Memories of that trip, of the search and the joy of finding Ironclad, and of the pain and betrayal that followed sobered her and she drew in a steadying breath. "I'm Lakota." The choice - deliberate though it was - to not give the full name she'd always been so proud of - Lakota de Ironclad - was heavy.

"I got back some time ago but old habits die hard," she said, gesturing to the grass and the darkness as if that explained what she meant. Her gaze sharpened on him, wondering what made him wander about so late. "I don't often see others this late at night. Couldn't sleep?"

adult mare // Mutt // gray // 15 hh