These hills are her playground and her kingdom, a sprawling fortress where she strides with purpose among her faithful followers. Her daydreams do not have her playing the sweet maiden, and she never wonders what it would be like to have a handsome stallion sweep her off her hooves and into the sunset. There will be no devotion stronger than the one she fosters in her twin, and none aside he worthy of the weight of her love. She dreams instead of her Mama's stead, of power and grace that she does not have in the realm of her body's limitations as of now. Romina is not aware that she never will, that her body is meant for agility and endurance rather than power and might. She will learn in time to use this to her advantage, to become the crying maiden that slips a silver knife between the ribs of her foolish savior. She will use her body as a weapon; the soft curves of her face and the wide sway of her hips are a promise destined to be left unfulfilled. She is chaos and ruination, and she will embody her brother's name.

Someday.

She is young, unaware of the machinations hiding in the shadows of her mind. Smiles come easy, manipulation faltering and fumbling. These days are for innocence, for the golden heart she will lock away only for her family - her greatest weakness, entrusted to those strong enough to defend it. Though she had escaped the Basin with its towering mountains for the sake of shedding shifting gazes and whispered voices, there was little expectation of actual company. She does not stumble, a skip to her step that startles, long tail curling restlessly as soft ears flicker towards the voice. Orange doe eyes peer towards the older boy, pale lashes fluttering as she tries to figure out who he is and what he desires.

Romina wanders towards him, grace natural in her long limbs as her tail uncurls to sway behind her.

"Escaping," her sweet voice sings, a little smile playing nervously on her lips. Steps towards the boy with an inquiring tilt to her head. "You must look frightening with your marking," she states simply, no sense of guilt or shame triggering that would make her consider her words - and his feelings - more carefully. But her brother is a brute beyond this boy's league, and she does not fear the abnormal. "Are you escaping too?" Hip juts to the sky as one dainty three-toed foot rests itself, big ears swaying as she tilts her head at him while she poses the question. It's implied that she's inquiring whether his marking makes him an outcast, like her, but she doesn't have the vocabulary or experience to word it correctly. She wants to poke and prod, see how he reacts when she sticks different verbal needles into him, but she doesn't know why. A degree of purity still remains within her, in her youth, but it will surely wilt with age.