Nymeria watched him coming.

Lilómiel drifted down towards her withers, coming to perch on the mass of scar tissue. He watched as well.

They were not discreet. Neither of them felt the need. In a herd setting, respect, and, in turn, discretion, was due—but without the issues that would arise from others being around to observe, Nymeria wanted to be upfront. She was curious about Kaj, and she wanted to learn more about him—but she was also cautious of him, and the manner of which he might treat her due to the history between him and Confutatis.

As he came closer, Nymeria realized first and foremost how much larger he was than she’d expected. The Czar must’ve been at least a hand taller than her, and his body—toned and muscular—had its fair share of nicks and scrapes. Her gaze flitted from his wings (broad, massive) to his face; and her expression, which had been bordering on wary, softened, opened. (Or, at least it appeared to open up.) Despite his scars, despite his behemoth of a body, there was nothing hard about his face—it was, instead, world-weary, and perhaps with an inclination towards kindness.

Note to self: it should be easy to avoid aggravating him.

His voice was deeper than she expected (what is it you wished to speak to me about?)

Nymeria blinked, letting a touch of anxiety flash across her face. Her eyes were just wide enough to express awe (or aspirations)—but nothing too melodramatic. On her shoulders, Lilómiel snorted, smoke curling up from his nostrils in disgusted amusement.  Don’t you think you’re laying it on rather thick?

Of course not. You only think that because you’re in my head. If I’m meeting my leader for the first time, I should be anxious. (“Should” was the key word. She still didn’t feel near as nervous as she “should.”)

The grullo cleared her throat, lifting her head. Now that Kaj was here, it felt strangely embarrassing to be asking him for permission for a fight… but there was no helping it. It was what she should do, after all. It’s what a good little herd member would do.

“When I was a filly, a colt—older than me—attacked me without reason. Now that I’m older—stronger—I was hoping to challenge him, and show him the wrong of his actions. The only thing is… I figured I should ask you or Archibald first, seeing as he might be an ally of some sort. Or you might not want me to fight…? Anyways. Um. He was dark, mottled gray, eyes like stone. A unicorn, heavy draft sort, lion tail I think.”

I don’t think you should remember him that clearly. Suspicious.

I’m a spy. I’m supposed to have a head for details.

“I think… he must be at least a couple years old by now. Maybe three or four. I don’t know him by name though.”