well someday soon when the spring brings the sun
i'll sleep, i'll finally
feel better when the winter's gone

She studies whether she chooses to admit it or not. The other mare is exquisite, a mark of beauty and uniqueness on a dull landscape that amasses into nothing more than a growing sea of green with hints of blue when it can push its way through. Gold blankets the top of her body that is coloured like snow. Paintings of black claws climbing her cheekbones and black crying from blue eyes as if she had held her downwards for a long period of time as it fell.
Frankly, Sikeax has never seen someone like her and is captivated.
Hobgoblin laughs at her. No one will ever be enough to capture his attention entirely, no matter in what way that they choose to stand out. His eyes find not a single soul special, unique, whatever you would like to define it as with one word. Everyone is someone different, another person he has to look at when he doesn't want and someone else who is going to look at him and possibly ask another damned question about how he change his body around into something new.
A fish swims by and he leaps into the air to capture, self-absorbed pleasure budding in his chest as the slickness of its scales touch the sandpaper texture of his tongue. He will go hungry no more.
A smile is drawn out over the mare's features and Sikeax can feel herself begin the process of questioning what it means. Her features don't change to meet her thoughts, but if they had, she would have knotted her brows into wrinkles and let her eyes darken with confusion. Worry would have dropped her ears into a submissive position, hanging at the sides of her head.
The motion in her ears is exactly that as she's told that Rexanna is nothing more than exhausted. A planned collision to the effort forced into the journey given at reaching the isles.
"Would you like to find some place to rest?" The feeling of oddity is becoming increasingly overwhelming, but possibly today is a day in which the simple rules of life and survival turn their noses up at the world and make the choice to look away for a spell. Hobgoblin would waste no time in reminding her that she could walking into dangerous territory if his mouth wasn't full of flavourful fish and his head swollen with his pleasure.
Rexanna. What a different name, feminine yet with the touch of power to it. She likes it; it's almost as odd as her own, falling off into a category that can't be easily systematized.
She carries on with her slew of personal rule breaking. Rexanna is tired and probably doesn't want the stress of her avoidance to name giving, yet alone the select chance that it may add some suspicion to her presence. In the Throat, her refusal to break out her name was met with distaste that she had been fast to overcome. They could live, but there must also be times of exceptions.
Now is one of those times.
"Sikeax." Her name kisses the rain like the salt on the ocean air. "But you're welcome to call me Sia if it's easier." On occasion, it does cross her mind that by possibility that her name is a difficult one to push off the tongue, but she has always been partial to letting the nickname follow her own name if the situation isn't one to be considered formal.


"Talk."