Paladin the Valiant.

Nayati knows him, but not well. She has never met him after all. But yes, she knows of him, and he is a bit of an idol for her. He was leader before Svetlana was instated, but he had returned and taken a position in the herd once more. It was pure luck she had discovered the meeting he had apparently drawn, though it seemingly wasn’t important if there was no outward announcement or call. At first glance she wanted to turn and run, simply because there were so many people. So many people…so many opportunities to hurt her, to see her. Being spotted was still a fear of hers, having been hidden away since birth by Mother. Yet from the group two stand out to her, though the mare…tree…woman is rather obvious too. Aaron was there when Romani had reappeared in the foothills, and Argetlam had been the one to give her the necklace that still rested on her breast, the flower in full view. She does not know Aaron very well, but she greatly enjoys Argetlam’s company. This urges her on, the hesitance that stopped her having create yet another larger group of flowers. It no longer bothered her, and she had nearly forgotten about them most of the time.

Stepping forward, she kept herself small and unnoticeable as she made her way with delicate steps towards the crafter. The soft words tell her that Paladin is a storyteller, that Aaron is a mason and new at that, and that Argetlam is his apprentice. Nayati does not speak, she listens. She is unlike many other foals, watching the world both with shy curiosity and fear. Paladin is speaking then and again she listens, storing away information. Little ones always know the most, for they are unseen and overlooked, underestimated. Willow is the healer, Aaron was not always a part of the Foothills, but was once a warrior. Nayati by then has made it to Argetlam’s side, and she brushes up against him, the only sign of her presence beside him. He is familiar, he is comfort. Cascading locks of snow hide her from view, though her albino eyes watch the group warily. She is becoming more and more thankful for her hair that grows like it’s going out of style, as if it’s determined to make it to the ground before she’s even a year old. It hides her away and she likes it, but now she is watching Paladin, tucked close to Argetlam. He has promise of a story on his tongue, and Nayati knows that knowledge is all that she has to her name, beneath her belt. She knows not where she’s headed in the future, and so she gathers. She listens. She watches. It is easier to overcome her fears when she has something to focus on, to stave off her panic attacks, and so she watches the old leader, and she waits, hoping that nobody else has seen her.