Zyanya

Nothing is as beautiful in solitude as it is when shared.

Zyanya thinks about this phrase for a moment, wondering if such a thing were true.  It is the nature of herd animals to socialize, clinging to each other for support.  So engrained in her nature was this, the girl had never stopped to properly think about why she sought the approval of others.  Surely, beside the instinct, there is some truth in the words of Seanan, the pearly white stallion with gentle eyes.  A silent nod is all she can muster in return, for the gear of her brain crank away, trying to further examine her motivations.

With the acceptance of others, you gain emotional and physical security in a sense.  However, we cling to those we love, those we know, only to be partially destroyed and ruined with each of their untimely exits from our lives.  Whether it be through death or simply circumstance, the holes of their absence decorate our pelts, yawning darkness peering out for all to see.  That is, at least, if you can't learn to hide your injuries well.

For the part of Zyanya, having naturally had a happy disposition and being raised in a climate where you were never less than joyous, it became second nature to pretend her heart didn't ache for the loss she felt.  Instead, a smile sits easily on her face.  Tears lay in a far away land where she is allowed to feel loss in its full capacity.  A land distant and far.  For the time being, at least, Zya hides the many injuries of her past well enough that the observer would never guess what happened to bring her to Helovia.  She is light; she is kind; she is happy.

Eternally beloved, never anything less.

"No," she says sharply, as if he briefly saw into her past, which would be impossible.  The sharp tone quickly fades, as though it had been an illusion, giving way to the same quiet, gentle voice as before.  "I came from a land in the East."  Unlike when she confessed her life and bared her heart to the world for Frost Fyre, Zya is in a much better emotional state.  Her reservations about sharing the history - her being a refugee of a civil war, a useless wall flower, stay silent in her throat.  "I guess you aren't a native either."

She smiles, finding a comrade, and thinking herself quite lucky for the time being.  "I have met young foals that were born in the Aurora Basin," she shares, as if to assuage the invisible worries that Helovia is only a land of immigrants.  "I had not thought to ask, otherwise."

"Seanan," the name tumbles out of her mouth in a sudden, awkward way, hesitation reading across her delicate features for a brief moment as she tries to meet his eyes.  "What do you think it is about this place that brings so many of us here?"  Is it the magic?  The residents?  The gorgeous landscapes?

He could not possibly know the true reason behind it, but for a brief moment, Zyanya believes he might.
""

YOU ARE THE BLUEST LIGHT.