Själ

In many ways, the princess was quite the opposite of the blue-tinged badass that she was beginning to recognize as her best friend. Where he was outgoing, she was withdrawn; where he was bold, she was reserved. And where he viewed the world quite simply, in many ways, Själ had never been afforded that luxury. Nearly since birth, she had been faced with situations and emotions that she had been ill-equipped to face, and it had taken her the past year to begin to recover. When she had first met Zèklè, she had been haughty and proud, every bit the princess that her mother had told her she was; but now she stood before the colt without that wall, without the guarded mask carefully placed between her and whomever she was socializing with. Now she was just her, and she was just... happy. It had taken her a while to recognize that for what it was.

She was two years old now, a filly slowly blossoming into a mare. There were still signs of her youth, to be sure, in both the way she looked and in the way she acted, but she was growing up. Her scars ran deep, but the power of youth is that time invites those scars to fade. Already she struggled to recall the exact lines of her mother's face, the precise way that her half-sister had spoken to her when she had first arrived in this land. She hadn't the confidence that she would have as a full-grown mare who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted, but she was old enough now to recognize that she didn't know, and that was (mostly) okay. No matter how much she wanted to have a plan for what came next, there would always be surprises. Her upbringing had taught her that, at least.

Just now, she had no particular plan for how she would treat her badass, no word for the giddiness that bubbled within her at the sight of him. Even Ansgar found herself pleased to be in the colt's company again, remembering him from long ago and liking him for the way he was making the princess feel.

When Själ's nose bumped against his, she was surprised by how soft his muzzle was. She almost wanted to reach out again just to see if she had imagined it, but she supposed that would be odd. Or rude. Or something. And, above all, she didn't want him to think she was some weirdo or anything like that. That would be tragic and horrible and it might actually be the end of the world.

Words tumbled from the boy's mouth and she found herself smiling in spite of herself, in spite of the fact that he barely paused for a breath or for an answer or for anything, and maybe that was a bit strange, but it was also so very him that she could not find it off-putting. "Slow down!" she laughed - no, giggled. "I want to hear all about it," she added, so earnest that he could not possibly mistake her tone for placating, or condescending, or anything remotely negative. He reached toward her - or was she imagining that? And why did she have the urge to reach back, and to touch noses again, and should she do that? What was she supposed to do?

Somewhere in the swirling chaos of her mind, she realized that she had no idea what to make of her complete and utter disarray. Why was her mind so scattered, why was she so unsure, why was she so afraid to make the wrong move and scare him away or make him leave or make him not like her anymore? And why was that such a horrifying prospect? What was it about him that made her want to hold on tight and never let go?

The depth of her desire for his companionship and approval was terrifying.

"How about this - you and I can be the King and Queen of the mountain, and Ansgar can be our valiant knight?" she asked, her eyes shining with excitement. "And then you can tell me all about your two sisters and their companions and maybe you'll even get around to telling me about you!" With a grin she began to trot, flicking her tail playfully at him as she started up the path.

"Speak."
--Ansgar.--