The maiden is ignorant of her intrusive behaviour as her hooves touch down on the petal-strewn soil next to Kahlua. Orange eyes meet with blue ones, but only for a second. The hybrid can see tears in them, and her flanks twitch irritably at the prospect of something upsetting this woman. Sadness has made up the majority of the paint's emotions, and she feels as if reacting to that pain with her own fury is justified. The jewelled mare has no desire to join the painted lady in her sorrow, and although she lacks empathy, she still feels obliged to help her in some way.

There is no one here to blame for her misery, and confusion momentarily grips her. All that the peahen can see as she throws her stare across the cherry-rimmed camp is streamers and tents. She does not understand what saddens her companion so until a sudden, faint whir sounds at her feet. Long green tresses frame a cobalt crown as it lowers to investigate the noise. The grieving woman is poking her nose in some sort of basket and gently prodding at a heap of metal. She has no idea what to make of the contraption – or the transparent storage device – but instead of making any demands the bird takes a more delicate approach to attaining information.

"Was it important to you?"

Perhaps that is too harsh, but the warrior has little to no experience in providing comfort. This is a strange new feat for her, and she cannot say just what has possessed her to show this sort of kindness. It could be the fact that her losses have just begun to pile up: the mass murder of her family; a poorly made decision that resulted in the disappearance of her wolf; the two races that marked her as an incapable and inexperienced individual. Of course some of these occurrences make appear childish to most, but that is not so for the extravagant bird. Perfection and domination have both swiftly become her goals in this new world, and if she is already starting to fail, then how can she succeed?

Because I am a fighter. I am Qualneci-oquichtin, and even in death, we continue to live on.

In defiance of her previous refusal to maintain eye contact, the bird offers Kahlua a steady gaze. "Titlaocoyani." We are wont to sorrow. "But you cannot let it consume you, cocotzin. We are women, and we are strong. Do not let the destruction of something that means so much to you destroy you as well." A colorful wing departs from a stained flank to brush against a painted one. The gesture is meant to be sincere, and the chieftess tries to convey that with her softening gaze. Her only memory of the Sunshower drapes itself across her mind, moving her to speak again. To assure her that she is not alone.

"I do not know why others try to hurt you." Dark hooves shuffle awkwardly as she struggles to find the right words. The hybrid is not entirely sure why is she offering to help the doe, be it out of her distaste for the one who hurt her or out of true concern, but she feels that she must tell her so. "I will stand beside you, little dove. I will make her regret what she has done to you." Instead of rushing off to find the flaming beast, however, the beautiful warrior plants her pillars in the lush green grass. She has offered her service to this lady, and she will not desert her now. Not like how she left her people in their time of need.

Her gaze returns to the flapping tent, momentarily shell-shocked by the echoes of her brother’s cries and her sister’s screams. Never again, is her silent vow as the images slowly fade.

Dark thoughts are replaced by a dark form as a horned brute approaches, and the maiden's mood instantly shifts from tender to guarded. Throwing up a cobalt skull and sliding her wing back into place, the Curiosus regards the stranger in silence. As orange pools spill over his musculature, she can only think of one thing to say about him -- although she is smart enough not to say it aloud. He looks like a cocky bastard. A smirk twists her lips when she sees the excess amount of hair adorning his body. And a furry one. I wonder if his herd shears him for his wool?

Suddenly concerned with why the little dove is summoning such a beast, the warrior turns to look at her. She does not appear to be shaking in fear, but the uncertainty in her voice does not affirm the opposite. Just what are you doing here? It appears that she will have to wait to find out.


"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

{Edit -- OH dear, we posted at the same time! Edited to include Ulrik.}