She meant well (she really did) but the words that rolled off her tongue—despite their genuine nature—hardly managed to strike a chord. Nymeria cursed herself for her hollowness, for her inability to offer more significant comfort; because despite the anger that simmered in her breast, she knew all too well what Själ meant. Always, she'd said; and wouldn't Nymeria, too, echo that sentiment in her place?

Surrounded by friends, enemies, strangers, faces she knew and faces she didn't: they all faded away eventually. Even her twin, a brother of the womb, had become unknowable to her. Who can you rely on but yourself?

Me. (That'd be Lilómiel.)

Nymeria let out a slow and heavy sigh, unspooling her gaze across the dead water. The reflections of the tree were jarringly obtuse, the branches' hard angles seemingly unworldly. It was a fitting background to the miserly nature of their conversation. Nym twitched an ear around to the stranger, the other swivelling away. Even the dullness of the winter air did not completely muffle the chaotic giggles and thuds of bodies—Nym wished that perhaps she had not met this mare here, that their conversation could continue without the interruptions of so-called love.

Was it any surprise, then, that the unicorn responded with an acerbic tongue? That her bitterness might be exaggerated by the influence of tender loyalty around them? Even to Nymeria those cries seemed foul—and Nymeria, despite herself, had had her fair share of daydreams about steamy stallions and heated flesh entwining. Those sounds were no longer a distant reality but a mocking prod at Nym's own inflated ego.

Why would you care?

How could she explain that in Själ's presence, her own furious rage, her own dismay, seemed less significant in face of their shared trials? How could she explain that she knew too well what Själ meant without becoming broken, weak? How could she explain that she'd always wanted a friend and had never been offered the fucking opportunity? Or that this—this warmed her heart, made her feel a little less alone, even though at first she'd only asked the question in jest?

“You're not the only one who feels alone," Nymeria murmured. There was something tantalizing—unconsciously sensuous—about her voice. "I... I guess I wish I had someone to rely on as well." She hesitated, faintly uncomfortable with her honesty (it felt like everything was exposed.) "I'm Nymeria."