Two things happen at once; first, I notice the stallion approaching, all muscles and a plush black coat and certain light to his features and step that said he was someone who was quite sure of himself, but no so audaciously open about it as mother was. I watch him come with my full focus set in his direction, wondering who he is (perhaps the General, or another of those that aren’t in the other herd within this herd because he most certainly had not been at the meeting) and whether or not he’ll bother talking to me.

It seems like he’s walking this way, at least, and I am filled with a sense of excitement that such a person wants to talk to me, but also hesitancy; an ear and eye flick towards mother, at least where she had been when I’d snuck off. As much as I wanted to get away, its frightening in ways to face strangers without her comfort nearby, or her loving kicks and nudges to get me to say the right things. She’s spent a lot of time telling me that how you carry and present yourself to others have more long term effects than anything you do and they catch wind of. I want this man to respect me, at least a little.

It’s probably asking too much.

Especially considering the second thing is now happening; all while I’m staring at this dual horned mammoth of a man and wondering who he is, my “sister” has been barreling towards me, unnoticed in my childish wonder with the stranger, and so it is too late that I catch the sound of her dainty, dark toned hooves beating into the mountain loam, too late that I cast my eyes to her with a bright and astounded expression.

"Thistle sis - OOOMPH!" I manage as our frames meet, a gaggle of narrow bodies and flailing legs that surely has wiped any chance of respect I have from this approaching man clean and clear from his mind. It seems my sister is still standing while I’ve had the displeasure of being cast from my hooves and rolled down into the grass, and I quickly rise in time to meet the features of the imposing male figure standing among the two of us, tufts of grass clinging to the frizzy, jutting arch of my mane.

I snort as he gives his nickering greeting, not because I’m mad at him or this conversation but because there is dust in my nose and I’m afraid I’m going to sneeze. I feel my sister huddle up nearer to me as he speaks, wondering why it is she’s always so timid and frail when she spends more time alone than I ever have, but it’s also comforting to know that, while my chances to impress the stranger are long gone, she still needs me.

Catching his words, I move to reply until sister asks me what he said. I glance over at her and smile in a fake, aggravated sort of way, nudging her with my shoulder as I answer both at once. "Momma never said father had family here," I say brightly, a quick glance given to my white and golden embellished sibling to show her that I was answering her question, too, "it’s good to meet you. I’m Rikyn, and this is my Thistle Sister...she doesn’t have a real name yet I don’t think. I’m, uh, well." I pause, smiling ruefully at the older stallion and seeing a lot of father in him now that he’s pointed this out to me and finding that its harder to tell him the truth of what I’m doing out here because of this.

"I’m sort of avoiding mother," my smile flashes easily across dark lips and a bit of light laughter ushers forth, ears loosely hanging to either side of my head and lion’s tail curling anxiously behind me and a smile over to my sister, "and I guess spending time with Thistlebabe. Momma doesn’t let her come with us very often."