Age is not something so easily measured in the passing of seasons. At it's very core, perhaps, but much can be said about who is aging, both in personality, and inherent design. Being an Aborun Lignea, Willow is young yet at 23. She could live twice that easily, so she is rather an inexperienced filly as of yet.
She does not know his thoughts though, aside from a flash of concern, so she only smiles towards him. At his acceptance of her proposal she nearly bucks with delight, her head tossing erratically while a wide, stupid grin plasters on her face. He is the first to accept, being the first to have it offered, but it sets her spirits high that the others will be the same. Perhaps an older, wiser mare would have gone to the most difficult herd first while her energy was at its peak - then again perhaps Willow could ride this wave of joy all the way to the Basin.
"You are far too good Torasin of the Edge," Willow responds, breathless with her excitement. Her mouth aches with the smile, but it's the kind of hurt she could grow use to.
"I sincerely look forward to seeing you then, I know we will have much to teach other." She dips her head deeply to him, the tree upon her back swaying with the motion and Ermine with it. He trills excitedly, overwhelmed by the glee zipping along their bond, although he doesn't entirely understand it. A bunch of horses standing around talking seems a daily occurrence to him.
"Though I wish I could remain longer, I wouldn't have us be a burden to you. Yet we will meet again under the moon." Willow graced him with another glowing smile and a dash of green eyes as she began to retreat, glancing towards Nadira with a fresh exhilaration.
"We needs be travelling to the Throat while the light is still good. May you hooves stay solid, Torasin." With that, the Lignea and her apprentice began to disembark from the World's Edge, the first stop of several.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
