Perhaps there’s something wrong with her, that she never thinks of her mother or the father she never knew. She doesn’t mourn them (doesn’t, truthfully, know what’s become of them). She doesn’t mourn her sister, though their souls may not walk on this earth as hers does anymore. No, she mourns only for herself and the things she has lost. Her powers, and therefore, herself. There’s not a day that goes by that she doesn’t dwell on those thoughts. There’s not a day that goes by where she finally finds herself glad to have stumbled on Helovia. No, she still resents the land that stripped her of her magic. Still longs for her nomadic life, and when she’s not at the sea, longs for the crash of the waves as well.

Syrena hasn’t made friends here, hasn’t created a family here, feels no ties to the other horses that call the Hidden Falls their home. Except Aquila, and of course, that has more to do with the fact the other mare is a sea-horse (quite literally), and loves the sea as Syrena does. That said, somehow, she has grown fond of the Falls itself. It was a constant, reassuring presence in her life, which was otherwise devoid of much of anything. The land was beautiful though, and the water plentiful. She could hide away in the pools of the Falls for days at a time, left to her own devices.

That said, she often throws herself into working instead. It keeps her mind occupied, and in some small slightly less bitter corner of her mind, she also feels like she owes it to the place she calls home. Not to its leaders (she has no feelings toward them one way or another, really) or its God necessarily, but simply to make the place great. It deserved that much. And perhaps, in the process, she could change her own nothing life into something. Something that might be just a sliver of the life she was destined to live before stumbling into the Threshold.

So, like she often does, she makes her way to the Threshold. The trek is endlessly more pleasant with Orangemoon here, if nothing else. She was almost enjoying the cold. Not that she was looking forward to the part where it would turn frigid soon, and she’d freeze instead of roast. But whatever, she was going to not think about that. She moves through the trees with an ease she probably shouldn’t have, given her size and build. But she spends a good bit of time here, and navigating is getting rather easy.

A female voice catches her voice first. It sounds vaguely like a reunion of sorts (at the very least, the mare obviously knows this Dragomir). That doesn’t stop her though. She doesn’t actually consider that maybe they want some time to catch up. Even if she did consider that fact, she wouldn’t care. They are close, and she’s there, and those two things are enough. Syrena changes course, making her way toward the sound of the voice until a mare and stallion come into view.

The mare is black and white and winged – a pretty thing, though lacking in many of the decorations common to Helovia, and Syrena at least doesn’t find herself jealous of the mare. The stallion as well seems rather unremarkable, and she finds she likes it this way. She might be remarkable (what, with the seal-gray skin, wet shine to her coat, scales and fins), but she doesn’t feel remarkable. And she hates being reminded of everything she’s lost by all the citizens of Helovia and their many wonderful colors and collections of things. She was far more than simply things before, but still, at least they had things. She didn’t even have that anymore. “Syrena, from the Hidden Falls,” she offers, voice flat as always as she comes to a stop by the group. And then she falls silent, having nothing else to add for the moment. It seems unlikey he’s knew here, if this chick recognizes him. And she might as well at least acknowledge that they may want to say hello before being pestered with recruiting spiels.


les words "chat chat"

Syrena

let the water take me