The flicka tilts her head to listen to her mother speak to the icy stallion, calling him a “King”, which caused the young filly to twitch her eye brows as she puzzled over the word. Almost every time her father returned from one of his patrol shifts, he divulged any and everything that might have happened to him, probably adding some colour and creative flair for the sake of his daughter to appreciate it. Though the filly didn’t always remember what he spoke of, she loved the stories, mostly because they came from him. His duties gave him less time to spend with her, but that he was so good a father to her in the times he was able to be, made up for it. Cirrus was growing up to think that she would be much like him; strong, diligent, passionate, and it wasn’t hard to see these traits already coming out in her. At least, when she was being distracted by shiny things.

“Spots?” She had asked him. “He really had spots?” “Yes,” her father had replied, an amused smile on his visage. “Good thing I didn’t touch him, never know if they are contagious.” The stallion had joked for the sake of his daughter, before evidently informing Cassiopeia of the true identity of the spotted steed, Mauja.

As Cirrus looked over this stallion, a concentrated, critical frown wrinkling her brows as she boldly took a step closer to him, nose outstretched to better allow her electrifying gaze to look more closely at these spots. She had seen a wingless one before, as well as one who carried a horn upon their crown, but not one who had spots. The brazen little vixen sorely wanted to touch one of them, to see if maybe the spots would move or rub off onto her if she touched them – but then, she also did not want to be spotted should they transfer onto her!

Momentarily distracted by the question her mother posed at her, without a second thought the young belle spouted back at her, “I am a Pegasus, duhh.” Swivelling her sights to Mauja now, as he suggested to call her not only girl, but little Cirrus too. Twisting her miniature nose up in a rather distasteful fashion she flared her wings abruptly again, being somewhat (though not overly) mindful to try and not knock her mother over, but otherwise hoping to take up as much space as she could with them. She was hoping to crowd the stallion a little bit, make him uncomfortable – make it clear that she was anything but a little girl.

“You’re almost right, I am Cirrus, and I am a Pegasus, but nothing else!” The filly didn’t want to be defined by any other labels they might try to throw at her. The stallion mentioned her father, which reminded Cirrus about the curious spots upon his hide. Wings forgotten, they dropped slightly as she stepped even closer to him, wanting to reach out and touch one, but secretly afraid to… After a tense moment she closed her eyes, motioned to bump her velvet maw against him before turning on her tail, shaking her head and trotting a small circle behind her mother.

“Get it off, get it off! I don’t want to be spotty!”