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Too much was happening too swiftly. Things were so much less... complicated at home. You were born into the herd or father took you in; and you were expected to uphold the righteous codes of honor and loyalty, and you would bear that burden, and gift, with a smile worn upon your face until you moved on. Of all horses, Lace appeared, and his words were gentle yet in a way stern, much like a leader's words, she imagined. He spoke to her softly, and her stiffening body eased, and she nearly wept for sorrow.
How could she be muddling through so much? It was confidence she needed, collection, and yet it's so very difficult to dreg up, pull together into something; she quivers and wavers and stumbles, and right when she think she finally has pieced the puzzle together, she finds there is a piece missing. Tor wags her head, just a slight touch, as if dazed, or perhaps a wet dog shaking herself clean from the clinging touch of water; and closes her eyes briefly, inhaling the sweet spring air, with the sharp tang of strong ocean salt. It's a soothing scent, one that reminds her of the cold oceans where the waters were gray and turned to slush in the winter, a thick sort of silver sludge, where horses huddled with the caribou in order to stay warm and it was the one season of the year where the deer tolerated them in their midst, with their young. Whitefoot had known a bit of reindeer; it was complex to translate, mostly because they communicated through their massive antlers, but it got the message across they meant no harm.
Lace's muzzle brushed her, and the tension filtered away from clenched muscles, and she felt cleaner, more wholesome than before. Maybe it was just the mare that bothered her, in general; she seemed hidden, clouded, in a way that Tor could not explain. Like the dark side of the moon; unknown. His words were clean and collected, and they made sense quite unlike Tor's rambling. Relief and guilt both momentarily filled her mind. "You are right, of course. I don't know what's gotten into me as of late." The paint confesses, feeling more at a loss than ever as he moves away, amulets flashing in his mane. Not so much for him moving away; but for what he speaks.
Of giving and taking. "I'm sorry, I really am. I'm just... I don't know." Tor shifts slightly, tail whisking across her flanks (does she need to address the comment about Rishima? Is that important?) and she tilts her head back to look up at the trees. A bird flashes across the sky, followed by another, twittering like mad. They seem like clueless things, birds- perhaps that would be a blessing. "Well... I mean, I guess if you want me to do something, I'll do it. I just want a home." And a family not of murderers. Another little sigh escapes her lips. She certainly seems full of them these days, full of concerns and heart weighed down with manners that will not let her mind rest.
Tor wonders what Rishima means, persay, by... 'skimming her mind'. Can she read thoughts? Or is it the feeling behind it? But either way, it will be easier than speaking she is sure- "I am sorry for the loss of your sister; you are welcome to look within my intentions, for at least I feel it will convey myself better." Who is the dark mare's sister? Tor knows Mirage was stolen not long ago- but was Rishima really her sister?
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