Colt had left the children in the hands of the trees, entrusting the pines to their safety. She trusted their judgement, knowing that although young they were smart. They wouldn't do anything she didn't approve of, not when she had already beaten them (how many times again?) for wandering without her permission. So she left them, assuming they could handle themselves and if they couldn't— well wasn't that what this cursed uterus of hers was for? Just producing more children at the disposal of men (and herself). 

She left them, and wandered east to the familiar territory of the Threshold. How unlucky she was here, only ever happening upon one lone equine who suited her standards. And she hadn't heard from him in months (the bastard), assuming he hadn't been able to hold his own against the antlered woman who'd stolen him. She dropped the possibility of his return when the marker passed two weeks, and lost any hope of seeing his ebony figure return to her sights. Instead she traversed the threshold in a desperate search to find an equine that wasn't kissing the hooves of scum and didn't look as frail as a hundred year old mare. 

Today just happened to be her lucky day, for in her eyes— gold. Colt's ears immediately shoot forward, spotting potential in the orange bathed mistress before her. She struts her way towards the woman, steel sights set on her target. The condition of her ivory hair makes Colt internally cringe, but she's drawn to the sleek body and her eyes dare not leave it. She averts her eyes to the violets frames by gold and white, alight from the coming dusk. 

She smiles, sweetly— falsely. "Sister—" She preaches, reaching out an unseen hand for the battered woman to take hold of. "You look tired from your travels." Colt's eyes follow the lines, the curvature, the muscle. Colt could admire the female body, particularly more so than the male counterpart. Even in Volterra's sister she saw promise of sin and hushed rooms, silenced by the awe of such a striking creature. Women held more beauty, more potential for admiration and appreciation. She could lust after a woman all her life, basking in their vibrance like each was her own goddess, powerful and graceful with daunting curvature and softened features. This mare in particular, she was carved from pure gold and even though her hair fell in dreaded tangles one could see the potential beauty in the creamy curls. She had frosted patches along her skin, speckled with spots and dappled along her shoulders. 

Colt would have her. 
"TALK TALK TALK" 
-- an appropriate table with an appropriate quote c":