The lightning child grinned gleefully at her father, unable to hide the complete and utter adoration and devotion that consumed her each time she found herself on an outing with the Czar. It had never bothered the girl that her family was not what one might call "traditional;" in fact, it hadn't occurred to the filly at all that her parents' arrangement was an oddity. It was all that she knew, after all, and she was not yet old enough to question all the things that she didn't know.

So, too, did she fail to question her odd aversion to physical contact. That no one else experienced the sharp, tingling pains of the world around them was lost on the cheerful filly, who had long since learned to brush off her misfortune and ignore it in order to experience the joys of the world. Besides, her parents had been nothing if not doting to their daughter; the lightning child never had the chance to suspect that she might be different. Oh, sure, she had noticed other parents nuzzling their children, had noticed how often her peers play-fought and rambled into one another. Still, she did not fathom the reasoning behind it, and as yet had been saved from the prejudices of the world against anything it did not understand.

And so the child scrunched up her nose and looked thoughtfully upward at the figure that towered over her, tilting her head almost comically to one side in careful consideration of the stallion's query. It occurred to her suddenly that she didn't know what a Czar was supposed to do all day, only that he was supposed to be busy. What a predicament she had landed herself in! Czars protect the herd, she told herself, but she knew all too well that there was nothing in this world that would convince her father to allow her into harm's way.

The girl pursed her lips. Czars are supposed to... hold meetings! But she couldn't help with that either. For one, what in the world would she possibly say to all those horses? And for another, she couldn't stand the thought of so many that close to her, just staring, waiting for her to speak. Czars... meet new horses. The girl was deflating now, her ears tilting slightly toward her rump, her eyes lowering uncertainly. How was she supposed to do that within the confines of her own home?

"Daddy," she began finally, the slightest of pouts evident in her voice, "what does a Czar do?"

"Talk."