Mists tumble above the plants, restless as the raindrops against the champagne's skin burst and spread. Drops slip down her ghostly faint outline of her rib cage, coloured the shade of fire that builds the earth of the sands in the oven-like region of her choosing. They explode against the blades that become shoved between her teeth, flowing sweet tastes of food that has been needed over the recent moons.
Buried so deeply with the intention of slaughtering the hunger that raged with the pit of her barrel, her attention faded while her eyes closed off to a lonesome hue of black. Ears relieve stress in the calls of birds, listening the distressed sound that would give her a reason to pull away from a well-needed meal.
The sight of a new four legged creature that mimics herself does not unsettle any noise they are already about making, so when a voice comes from the blue to speak to her, halting for a moment's notice, her head springs up as if to be a startled bird. Grasses hang from the edges of her lips, pulled in as her hind teeth grind them down.
In the morning light, baked in gray, is an unknown man who talks about her horn. Attention is thrown at him to find a friendly look, smeared lightly about his face, the opaque colour of orange taunts his dark hide. Scents roar off of him, one that seems familiar that she can share with him. The male is brethren.
Settling out of fear laced with nervous tendencies, each pale eye does the best attempt to see the low glow of her horn. It barely existed to her anymore, her brain choosing to ignore it. Within a small gathering of seconds, they're back on him. He wants to be her company, and she is somewhat lonely.
"I won't be one to complain if you choose to."
The soft, weak wake of her words grab a hold of the mists, hanging on so that they might reach him. His presence is strange for her; the last to approach her was Cera, and he spoke more than this spider faced stallion. Proper introductions could aid her some, never aware of all of those that had met her. Any she'd met as a young thing no longer existed to her mind unless they'd made measures to retrieve her for conversations and actions to create a relationship to the female.
"Sikeax, Her own name is no stranger to her tongue, having to speak it in great volumes just so that she might run a risk of being remembered at a chance encounter later on. "but call me Sia." More time adds to their silence, mind wondering what they called him, or what his true identity was, if the land inhabitants knew him by something different. She'd gone far to avoid stereotypes, unwilling to think by appearances. The current, easily mended features of his expression made it hard to see him as bad, but appearances deceived. There would be no easily handed trust given today.

@[Lace]