The girl smiles because they all smile at her; she is blissfully unaware of the unusual nature this situation presents, predator surrounded by prey of three races. The fact that Meeraker could eat her in a second is like a gnat at the back of her skull, and she keeps batting it away because really, anything could eat her, just like anything could eat a plant, because she was rather like a plant, despite being a horse - she ate plants, and so she must somehow be one of them because what else was inside her, really? They were even outside of her, the strangely active black plants that had been her friends for all her life since she could remember, the vines that seemed to shift at her every thought. Just now they were blooming into enormous flowers, reflecting her own pleasure at finding herself in a group that did not seem to judge her.

She looks up at the cat bird, crimson eyes curious as to the meaning of her tinted words. She wonders what they mean, because she does not recognize most of them -
"What is Oh-too-push?" she wonders aloud, at the same time the sky-filly asks the meaning of the other word. Abashed, she turns to look at the others on the ground, hoping they are not angry at her, amused by the cacophony of sound that erupted into the air as both she and the pretty little one spoke simultaneously. The art-maker waves his tongue at her and she finds it silly, tilting her head to try and understand what on earth the crazy creature was trying to convey. Not that she judged him, for she was aware that most creatures were quite strange and somewhat stupid, at times, for what else could explain the difficulty she had understanding them? Like now - whatever meaning lay behind the ridiculous actions of this artistic stranger completely befuddled the little mare. Somehow, though, the sky-filly seems to understand, and she asks loudly if the stallion cannot speak.

This bewilders the small mare. She can speak, if not well. Sky-filly can speak. Cat-bird can speak. She searches her fuzzy memory, trying to find some solution to the conundrum. Snippets of images, most flawed and romanticized, float through her mind. One is growing clearer. She recalls a black stallion, not unlike the one she sees now, and somehow he is different. She thinks, and realizes that he too could not speak, yet he was wonderful, moreso than any other she had met. Eyes light up, ears prick; she looks to the dark stud, and sees something new in him. The equation, she had decided, made sense last time, and so it must be repeating itself.

This stallion was doomed to be her friend, forever.

She must first chide the sky-filly for finding it so strange. "Is ok if no speak," she informs the winged child, the strength of her words rather diminished by the slow, cheerful intonations in her voice. She casts an eye towards the cat-bird, for she has decided that the mysterious thing must be quite wise - how else did she know of oh-too-push and ink? "Can talk with pictures." It is still addressed at the cat, for she feels suddenly shy in his presence, peering through lowered lashes to see his response. He is perfect, she has decided.