Själ

Why did the princess care so much for the wolf-mare? It was not as though she had ever offered sympathy in the past, not truly. Her past friendships, shallow and meaningless, had been full of the lightness of childhood; in the way of drama, there had been little and less to concern or infuriate her. No, she might have felt a fleeting jealousy here or a bit of irritation there when she didn't quite get her way, or when she thought that she ought to have more claim to Zèklè than anyone else -- but that was nothing in comparison to the blind, unadulterated fury that chilled her blood as Nymeria admitted to her obvious pain. And yet, through the crimson haze that filled her mind, a part of her understood that she would have to tread lightly, to offer her friend no reason to shy away from Själ's proffered affections.

As though to confirm this realization, Nymeria shied away from the princess's touch, as though flinching away from some uncontrollable anger directed at her. Själ paused, neither moving towards nor away from the wolf-mare: she would not close the gap further, not until Nymeria relaxed, but neither would she move away. If nothing else, the other mare had to understand that the princess was not going to abandon her, not after the vows they had made to one another in the Secret Grove. If Nymeria had seen Själ at her worst, then the least she could do is return the favor without running away screaming.

What was more -- the speckled mare wanted to help. It was not enough that her friend was a friend by name; no, it was necessary that the pair rely on one another, prove that it was possible to be more than just a word. She wanted - she needed - to show herself that the earthly bonds she built were worth more than that.

Nymeria laughed then, a sad, wild cackle that almost took Själ aback with its pain and ferocity. The dragon crooned softly (the princess imagines that he is soothing his bonded), and Ansgar answered with a quiet chirp of her own. Two pairs of amber eyes were fixed on the wolf-mare, concern sharply contrasting the caged anger threatening to break free.

"Is everything all right?"

Nymeria jerked as though kicked, spinning to the princess's side with surprising speed; at the same time, Själ moved, driven by the wild desire to save her friend. Själ's ear pinned against her skull, her teeth bared, and her head lowered in an obvious display of aggression. With Nymeria pressing against her, the princess stepped forward, angling herself slightly so that she was protectively, tensely positioned in front of the wolf-mare. Nymeria had already spoken, terse, biting words flying from between her teeth toward the stallion who had emerged from the trees.

Nymeria's hatred could only mean one thing: it was HIM.

Själ might have snarled, had she been the wolf that her friend was; as it was, she spat her words at the stallion, her tail lashing angrily. "What did you DO to Nymeria?!" Had any of them known Psyche, they might have recognized the psychotic anger that coursed through Själ's amber eyes, the rigid set of her neck, the preparatory shuffling of her hooves. She would fight to defend her friend, and she would win.

There was no other choice.

"Talk."
--Ansgar.--

@Mesec