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Ghost. The name seems to suit the unusual mare, and Yssraim wonders if horses earn their names here the way she had earned hers. The familiarity would be comforting, and it would help her learn more about the inhabitants of this land. You don't want to learn about them, her mind hisses, bombarding her with the images of sick herdmates, miserable and dying. Her mother, already listless and ill after only a few minutes in her presence. She was not meant to be around others, and certainly shouldn't hang around to get to know them.
But what if?
After all, Ghost seemed fine, and they'd been standing here for several minutes. What if everyone here was immune, somehow? It is a tempting thought.
A question is asked of her, and Yssraim finds herself at a loss for words. Why was she here? She supposes that there isn't really any specific reason for her to have come to this land, other than to avoid contact with other horses, and that reason is likely to get her sent away. Still, telling Ghost doesn't seem like such a horrible thing, and it may save countless others if they know what she does. "I ran away from my herd," she admits. "I make horses sick, if they stay near me long enough." She finds herself searching for her magic as she speaks, somewhat concerned by its' silence. Why isn't it striking out at her surroundings, seeking a victim? It has never been like this before, sleeping deep inside her bones rather than sliding against her flesh. She is glad for the reprieve, but plague has been her constant companion since birth. Where is it now?
Yssraim
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