Ilios is more than right – I’m terribly overwhelmed. This is by far the most interaction I’ve ever had at once and I feel stress clawing at my chest as I fight – and fail – to pay attention to everything at once. I force myself to shift around where I stand, the movement breathing a tendril of life back into my frozen muscles. The aforementioned colt continues to talk, giving my frazzled mind something to focus on. He’s confirming my suspicions that I’ve landed in a recruiting area of sorts, though for who or what, I’m uncertain. Ilios is from a desert and that manages to pique my interest because of all the places I’ve roamed, a desert has never been one.
 
 

Unfortunately, Ilios’s explanation is the end of the normalcy. The spotted stallion who’d initially captivated me in his familiarity leans over to the small and loud little stallion and licks him, promptly wheeling away, aghast with his own actions. I glance at the rest of the crowd, my former exasperation returning. How the hell had I ended up here, in a land wrought with blabbering fools such as this? The stark foreign nature of this strange and convoluted place does not end with the spotted, nameless male and instead appears to possess the littler victim of his licking. Johnny, he’d called himself, appears entirely unbothered by having a (stranger’s?) tongue placed on his body and I can’t help but think of all the ways I’d tear that tongue out if it’d come near me. Without realizing it, I drag myself a step in reverse, begging my muscles to wake back up in case I might need to flee. The land itself, it seems, can sense my flighty nature as it sends forth yet another stallion into my midst. He seems familiar with everyone though it doesn’t escape my notice that he’s omitted his own name but it doesn’t take much for me to understand that he’s simply here to enjoy himself, be it by belittling the stallion who doesn’t understand boundaries (Mauja, it seems), or looking me over like I’m on display.
 

“If this is normal behavior, I think I’ll just be passing through.” And yet, where else do I have to go? The next one to actually address me is the lion-tailed pinto of whom I receive a lot of information that my overloaded brain is sluggish to process. He calls this place Helovia, and says he hails from the Aurora Basin. I can only assume that this is his comparable version of Ilios’s Dragon’s Throat. He says it’s cold and I wonder if it’s possible for me to be colder than I already am. I also wonder if I’m willing to find out. “So you’re from this…Dragon’s Throat,” I look at Ilios briefly, “And the three of you are from the Aurora Basin.” I nod at Ashamin, Johnny, and Caleb. With a sigh, my seagreen eyes fall on Mauja. “Dare I ask what sort of land produced you?” I don’t mean to be impolite, though the words still seem harsh in the winter air.
 

The strange little deer-creature’s wandered up to me, sniffing about my hooves and for a moment I forget the stress and confusion of this place and these men. The little fawn enchants me and I lean down to investigate it, tentatively brushing its neck with my nose. Drawing my head back upon my shoulders, I lock Ashamin in my sights. “He’s not a deer.” I’m observant, clearly. “What is he?” And then, without waiting for an answer I remember how to use my brain and my mouth and the dam breaks and more questions come forward. “You called yourself a…haruspex and the candy-colored one a weaver. What does that mean? How do these places – your homes – work?” I start out addressing Ashamin alone, but the last question goes out to the whole group.