Dual-toned eyes, one a burning gold and the other an icy silver, watch the forms that begin to sway with the beat of the music, provided by Lady Illynx's Griffon. Songs were sung, laughter was had, and memories were made... But Rhiannon remained on the side of the festivities, watching a figure of beautiful coral with a slightly narrowed gaze. The brindled devil had never tried dancing of such caliber, save her times as a filly and frolicking through the valleys of the Basin, but this was different. Vastly different, dare she say, and if Rhiannon had inherited anything from her dear father, it was his pride. The last thing that she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by tripping over her own hooves...

And so, the brindled soldier remained along the sidelines, focused on the twisting, turning, beautifully provocative form of Hotaru, as she danced with her daughter. 'Go,' a part of her mind seemed to demand, 'Dance with her. You know you want to...' Yes, she did. Rhiannon desperately wanted to dance with the mare that had so stolen her heart and breath, but it wasn't in her place. Hotaru was the lady, Rhiannon her knight... It would be rude of her to barge into the heartfelt dance between mother and daughter.

She was a soldier. A warrior. A fighter. Her job was to maintain the peace, to make sure that no harm would befall her herd... But she was doing a terribly shitty job of it, since her attention was completely captivated by the blonde-tressed beauty merely paces away. Nonnie snorted and jerked her gaze to the side, jealousy burning in her gaze. Damn. Never before had she been so smitten, so captivated...

Hooves began to shuffle in their place and teeth began to gnash with the feeling of familiar uncertainty. She wanted to dance, she truly did... But should she? What if she made a fool of herself and Hotaru wanted nothing to do with her anymore? What if she tripped, stumbled, fell, and Illynx saw, thus thinking her a foolish, incompetent soldier? These doubts swam in the brindled warrior's mind, twisting her thoughts and marring her self-confidence. Fuck... Could she do anything right?

What the fuck would Crowley say?

"... Oh, bloody fucking hell," Rhiannon growled out bitterly, snapping her muzzle upwards and allowing the crimped, curled strands of ice-frosted ebony to fall in waves about her neck and shoulders. Hard, black hooves pulled the mare forward, her large, powerful musculature rippling with prowess and danger as she stepped out to join the writhing bodies that danced. Throwing her head back, forelegs pushed upwards off the ground and Rhiannon reared, twisting and turning to the beat of the music. Two-toned eyes would occasionally dart to the dancing mistress of coral and palomino tresses only paces away, wondering if she had caught the tempting siren's attention...

But no matter. She was dancing. She was moving, and she was living... And it felt really fucking good.