The obvious fright that scattered her hooves as equally as her fine features plummeted Ricochet's heart into his stomach. Or perhaps his throat, because it felt tight and obstructed as he tried to call out to her, wearily striding out after her, before stopping and pulling back, afraid to give chase lest she truly flee.

Hunched up against himself as he brooded over his rash actions, hooded eyes lifted to meet her as she precariously neared once more. The interval had been seconds, but his heart beat with a renewed fervor that suggested she'd been gone for seasons. He could not bare to lose her to this cold in her condition, certainly not by his part.

Her voice was a delicate patter of tongue on lip, the words and an easy flow of well groomed manners and kindness. He proffered her a sad smile, only too aware of the naivety in which she existed. He wrestled with the decision to shatter that ignorance and thrust her cruelly into the reality of the world, or to keep her safely secure in his shadow and youthfully innocent to the monstrosity of life.

"I apologize for my actions. I did not mean to frighten you, I just lost my temper to see you so..." He exhaled with a tremble. He seemed defeated as he hung his head, mane sliding over his head as if to hide him. "You are deserving of splendor and health, yet you are made to lack. No equine should ever be in want, not so long as I live." It was a true passion that gave him voice, and a raw frustration at the lack of ability to accomplish such a dream.

Eventually he promised her as much as himself.

Her profession of lack of purpose wrecked his heart all the more. He stood not before a strange mare but a sister left beaten and bloody on his homestead. It grieved him in parts no less equal to the anger it gave him. With a shake of his head he rushed to close the gap between them, muzzle poking out to nudge beneath her chin and lift it high, as it should be held. His breath would be warm upon her, his touch gentle, though firm.

"No no no my dear, you have every right to exist. You are beautiful and perfect and powerful. By birthright you are supreme to the others, precious equine that you are..." Ricochet's voice faded, too overwhelmed by the sorrow at seeing such a broken girl that should stand so proud. He felt the bite of his rage and he wished to instill it in her.

"You should not wander these rat ways with your nose to the dirt. I know a flame burns in you still, and if not in you then the fire rages in me and I will ignite you!" Ricochet's tone held an urgency that seemed to imply she might die on the spot if she didn't combust, a strange idea in itself. "Do not let them beat you down! Do not let those unicorns and those pegasus take you. You are better than them, stronger than them, more rightful than them. YOU ARE EQUINE."