A crisp, cool breeze flickers across my back, wrapping tender tendrils along my sides, stroking softly under my belly, twirling gently at my banner. It is a breeze of spring, though the new season is still several weeks away and I still find myself chilled from the current temperatures; but new life has been in the air for a few days now, with the nights growing steadily warmer. It happens to be my favorite time of year, filled with new life and wondrous beginnings, and so I welcome this early taste of Birdsong with a smile. Still, I think the steed quite mad for his excursion into the pond.

As I wait for his response, I hear a soft snort, a gentle salmon splash across my vision. It is very weak, though, so dim that I could have imagined it. I am sure, however, that I did not, and so when a dark-hued mare that I dimly recognize as one of my sisters (in name, if not in blood) materializes from the gloom, I am not in the least surprised. Instead, I turn my smile to her and dip my head in greeting, her colour now imprinted solidly in my mind. My pupiless gaze returns to the steed, and I meet his eyes as he examines me almost critically. For what does he search? There is no more to me than there is to any other, and yet he seems to find nothing amiss; he turns to appraise Agrona similarly. Again, he does not seem to find what he is looking for.

He still has not spoken. A lesser mare might have found this rude, but I find myself wondering if we have stumbled across a kindred spirit, found someone new to join our family. I am quickly put in my place, however, as the steed opens his mouth and speaks – or tries to. It seems that he has not spoken in a very long time, for his voice croaks and crackles with misuse. It shows the same across my sight: a brilliant amaranth bolt, flickering like lightning. As he asks – or, really, demands - what our intentions are, he heaves himself from the pool. For firmer footing? I take a step back, giving him room and attempting to assure him that I mean no harm. Despite the defensive gesture, I tense slightly, prepared for a battle, for that was what I was trained to do in such situations.

I do not notice the fog creeping along at first, and when I do, I don’t think much of it.

My smile has not wavered, and I do not let my unease show. ”What, a girl can’t come talk to a handsome stallion?” I ask, my vocals teasing in an attempt to defuse the situation. I do not like fighting, and I do not wish for this to turn into something nasty. I am curious, too, for one so reserved rarely has such a vibrant shade. Who is this stallion? And I do not mean his parentage, I do not mean his name – I mean his soul, his purpose, his calling. It is a deep question, and one that in all likelihood, he cannot answer. ”I’m sure that Agrona, too, only sought companionship in which to celebrate the return of the moon.”

The fog has thickened now, and seems to only be growing. It roils around my hooves, and I am dimly aware that I have begun to lose feeling in my legs. I shift my weight, flicking an aud in irritation. It’s really not the best time for my legs to fall asleep, not when I might need them.

"Talk talk talk."

[OOC | Sorry for the wait, loves! Silly Reiz, she doesn’t even know what to do about the fog…]