Romani
“I’m sorry,” she began, uncertainty and sorrow plaguing her voice, “But I’m afraid that I truly don’t know who you are.” None of this was making sense to the Haflinger. This Arabian, a pretty thing with such a delicate build, was looking at her as if she had broken her heart. Had they met? Were they friends? No, it was impossible… She didn’t remember ever meeting this femme before her. Yet, the Arabian knew her name and spoke it with such affection, such love and pure devotion, that Romani couldn’t help but question just what was going on.
Beneath her, Kasai still cowered, uncertain what to make of the newcomer. Her little pink nose twitched as she took in the other equine’s scent, but otherwise didn’t move. Whiskers twitching and mouth opening once more to show off sharp incisors, the cub hissed, a relatively pitiful sound considering her age and size.
Shifting slightly, the compact mare swallowed thickly, unsure how to go about this. “I really am sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. Have we met before? You know my name, and you smell of the Foothills…” The expression that the Arabian still wore upon her face was heartbreaking, and Romani found herself wanting to erase it immediately. “Could… Could I ask your name? Perhaps it will help me remember?”
[OOC: All. My. Feels. D:]
The true Soldier fights not because
He hates what is in front of him,
But because he loves what is behind him.