Magika was just wondering what she could do to occupy herself until her mother returned when suddenly she heard a call. Little head whips around to face the painted stranger. Eyes wide and brown tipped ears pointed with curiosity. A range of emotions flicker across the young filly’s face. Initially there was surprise. Her mother had assured her that other horses lived in the desert but this was the first one that Magika had ever seen. Next came a mixture of skepticism and apprehension. Was she really seeing what she thought she was seeing? Was this bright mare a mirage? And why would someone want to be around an ugly monster like her? At least that’s what her mother had called her.

Finally there was a smile and the young filly lifted her gangly dark legs into a trot. Her desire for security and comfort overriding any hesitance she may have had. It’s almost as if she could sense that the nurturing mare held no nefarious intentions. Bobbing along the sandy ground she stopped in front of the stranger and pressed herself into their chest. There was almost a sigh of relief as she felt the softness of the coat and warmth.

“I don’t know,” she answered after a moment of silence with a quiet and raspy voice. Her mother didn’t like it when she talked and as a result her larynx was underdeveloped for her age. “Maybe she went to give the queen a piece of her mind?” At least she had heard Witche grumble about that on a number of occasions so it was a fair assumption to make. Briefly the little filly pulled her head away and scanned the horizon line. There was still no sign of her mother, and that was probably a good thing. “I’m Magika,” she looked up into the mare's green eyes as she introduced herself. "What’s your name?”