She had hoped that he would choose to simply walk by, ignore her presence and carry on with his own business. A chance meeting in a deserted wasteland must be too much of a curiosity to let pass however, because not only did the malformed stallion approach her, he even spoke. The accent was foreign to her, but the words somewhat understandable; different though, too different for her taste.

"I should think so" she replied shortly, eyes locked on the wings that folded against his gilded sides. "Seeing as I haven't been here - wherever here is - for long. Nor do I intend to stay." It was none of the misshapen strangers business, but Rilo felt a need to clarify that this desolate place by no means was her home. Not for the first time she thought back on the well organized settlements of Belkina Aranya, the enormous trees with branches wide enough to walk on. The homes carved into the massive trunks, the squares where water and sweet fruit was provided by eager merchants and foals ran laughing through a quietly murmuring crowd. She thought of the academies where the Art was taught to those with the gift, the rest offered education in history, writing or labor, all to walk a path of scholars or laborers that all had their place in the well structured society.

A faint sigh slipped from the freckled lips, and with a sideway glance she took a closer look on the foreigner. Or maybe she was the foreigner now? The thought was strange, and would have to be processed further at a different time.
He was decidedly a strange creature. Time and again her eye trailed down to the shoulders where the feathered appendages rested, tucked away and useless. Would they carry him, if they unfurled and started to beat? She thought of lifting off the ground, suspended in the air with nothing beneath the feet - a shiver ran across the skin and the filly had to look away, disturbed. What if he fell?

"Why are you here?" she blurted out, unable to control the tone of her voice. The words came out blunt and rude, almost making her grimace; her mother would have scolded her if she ever heard a tone like that being used, her father would have frowned and sent her off to cool her head before continuing the conversation... Sadness washed over her at the thought. They were no longer there to teach her manners. She'd never see their faces again, and the precious memories of a time she once thought would last forever had been tainted with an image of blood and death.

Life would never be the same again.