Thistle Meadow had served its purpose, a fragrant vale of escape detached from the cruelties of worldly interaction. Her companions proved intriguing and of gentle nature; overall, the interactions and experiences were some she could not regret. Yet the entire affair had held a tinge of bitterness within her mouth, the taste of doubt and swathe of longing. While she found herself rejuvenated by the detour, the absence of her initial companion left the mare discontent and anxious.

She had comforted herself with the thought that in her enthusiasm he had become lost. She berated herself for failing to maintain any supervision of her partner, quietly deciding that the idea of this debacle being her responsibility was quite a pleasant one when compared to its alternative - that he had desired to escape her, that his outward pleasure at her company masked a hidden disgust. And while the foolishness of this idea was not lost on her logical mind, the moon-kissed mare could not fully relinquish some lingering elements of disquietude from her darkened mind. She had feared from the start that Asur's kindness had been merely that, a kindness; now the gnawing renewal of that wonder could not easily be subdued.

It is with this conflict in her mind that she crosses the threshold into the Foothills. Ever the wanderer, she finds it wryly amusing that this land presented borders as yet unbreached by her light footfalls, scents unexplored and flavors untasted. She is a shadow pressed against the cliff face, unobtrusive and silent beneath the sorrowful sun, slender form dipping from sight and reappearing in a flash of ivory and ebony. While she tells herself that this visit bears no purpose but some exploration, the way dark nares tear apart the breeze belies this assertion. She seeks his scent, both to satisfy herself on the issue of his safety.

She does not know what mood shall befall her, should she find him.

The sound of water cascading off rock is delectable to her, a sweet symphony against astute auds that clings against her mind and beckons her hence. In the midst of her musings, the dark mare had not realized just how strong her thirst grew; confronted with the approaching presence of cool liquid, a fire seemed to erupt within her throat, abruptly engulfing her mind and forcing the world into a dizzy tumble before her eyes. The heat, it seemed, had taken more of a toll on her stamina than Rishima initially suspected; she frowns against the sudden pounding in her cranium, berating herself for not stopping to drink sooner.

Lost in the abrupt haze which threatened to engulf more senses than just sight, she turns her mind on the sounds around her, a trick she had learned during many years spent sprawled upon desert sands. Focus returns even as she steps forward, hesitant and wary; slowly she proceeds, cautious to avoid a motion so abrupt that it might send her body into shock. The scent of moist dirt and blooming, unguent mosses draws her onward; eager, she has to reign in her own legs, knowing that the delicate state of her mind and how easily she might upset it.

Hooves sink into dampened ground, the roar of falling water joining that already present in her ears. She does not stop as she approaches the pool, but dips her skull down to drink, forelegs submerged hock-deep and precariously balanced upon loosened rubble. The water courses through parched throat, soothing her brain, the act of swallowing a delightful burn. Vividly cold, the shock of it is enough to drive her from her haze; she has to struggle to keep herself from shying at the icy chill. When she is satisfied, she raises her delicate tiara, eyes shut in pleasure. A sigh is released, and lost against the sound of the rushing water; she dips her nose back to the pool, determined to drink beyond her desires, to quench the heat sickness which proves especially threatening to those of darker pigment.

She does not see the stallion lying prone across the liquid, her quarry now so close; she does not catch his scent, for it is deadened by the water. She knows only the delight of crisp fluid and the expansion of her barrel, the inviting glimmer of the waterfall's lake. It tempts her like a friend, smiling, laughing; she smiles back, and wonders if makes for good swimming.