The gap between them seems somehow wider now than it had been before and she puzzles over that for a long moment, contemplating what the strange bereft feeling in her chest meant. The Morrigan had encountered plenty of other men before. Sihtric, Toland, and others she could not remember the names of. But none of them had inspired such a queer urge to sidle closer, to steal away his warmth, much as she might be coaxed to lay flat out on the first warm spring day.

She listens while he answers, watching the expressions transform his face with a sort of quiet fascination. His surprise at the nature of her question had gone largely unregarded as such responses were common for her. She rarely followed a normal track of conversation, and felt no shame at taking her companions into the sort of discussions that were largely considered too personal or too strange.

He stepped away and she frowned, but did not retake the space. She wasn't sure what to make of that decision, but opted not to speak on it, choosing instead to answer his question.

"My opinion is irrelevant." The golden mare offered matter-of-factly, without an ounce of admonishment. She smiled, but it was a small affair that did not touch her thoughtful brown eyes this time. "The question is, do you think you are a fool for having such pride?"

Rain freckled the snowy-white of her frosted rump in small pitter-patters, the drops so large and heavy that they made soft thwack! sounds against her coat. She remained curious of the monochrome man and his motivations, of his desires and his fears. He was an enigma that she felt inexplicably drawn to.

"I do not think you are." She says after a long moment of watching him, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek as the strange, fluttery sensation from earlier ricocheted inside her chest.

"Pride is a strange thing," Morrigan murmured, casting her bright gaze away from the object of her fascination. "It can move mountains but also hold fast so strongly that not even hurricanes can budge it; can build legacies spanning generations and destroy them in a day." Stories abounded across the isles of how pride could so easily be one's downfall, but so rarely of how useful it could be. Having grown up without a mother to truly guide her, the Morrigan had hung on the stories she'd come across by well-meaning mares, many of whom had tried to wrangle the wayward, wild filly into a family. She'd left them behind, but held the pieces of them in her memory.

Eventually, she turned her face toward the new leader of the Forest again, her voice thoughtful and curious. "How do you plan to wield yours?"