As though caught in the act, a little sheepish and lacking the social grace to hide it Erthë flinched and turned in the direction of the voice. It ought not have been sudden. In fact it was the part of realizing that someone had gotten so close to her without she becoming aware of them that alarmed her, rather than the golden mare herself. It would be stretching the truth to claim that the filly was any good at sneaking, but ought she not at least be able to detect the presence of someone who clearly didn't try to hide?

"No", she replied. "I know exactly where I am."

It was embarrassing to say the least, and the offense she took in her own clumsiness made the tone of her voice flat and rather less cordial than intended. Pursing her lips Erthë collected herself into a more flattering posture, gathered up legs and downy wings and a coiling tail, all while studying the stranger through narrowed eyes. It was a pretty thing she had stumbled across, all legs and neck and golden shimmer, with a voice like gleaming nectar and hair that rivaled silver in steely luster. As though drawn there by some invisible force her gaze fell upon the lean shoulders and the double wing-pairs that rested there so casually, big and glossy and certainly deserving of the jealous jolt that course through the filly's innards.

The mare looked like she could be a sister to the Sun God himself, and yet she had the nerve to speak of beauty while looking at Erthë's scrawny, adolescent self? The audacity to look past chafed elbows, knobbly knees and knotted hair and see what the girl couldn't even comprehend, let alone care about?

It was laughable, yet somehow the girl felt more annoyed than amused. She shook the crowned head as though doing so might let her unhear the unintended compliment, and with another shift in stance the tension in the slight, slender body expressed no gratitude, only wariness and suspicion.

"Who are you? I've never seen you around here..."

Not surprising, of course, considering how many horses that inhabited Helovia and passed through the threshold forest on a daily basis. But the Erthë was at a loss for words, unsure of whether she ought to run, fight or crack a joke - so this was the next best option. All hail rudeness; Tembovu would probably roll his eyes and sigh if he ever got wind on this conversation.

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Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind