like a jar, you housed infinite tenderness
and infinite tenderness shattered you

Romina’s flightiness makes Yael sad; if there were anything to help bring her spirits up, it might have been a child. The girl seemed… afraid of her - of the three women - and that, too, is bizarre to the golden stranger. When had she ever been scary? To B’kanna’s newcomers, the golden pegasus was perhaps a little unusual, but rarely did she ever send anyone running for cover while in her horse form (and her days of dragon-shifting are well over).

White kind of world has she come upon? Where three small-ish, and seemingly kind mares are cause for worry? Yael watches the girl skitter away and then turns to her guides, with the first look of worry in her gaze. “Vhy ees she so scared? Vhat does she xaf to fear xere?” It is a question she is not sure she wants answered, though some part of her knows it must be, if she is to be properly prepared.  

As they begin their trek to the World’s Edge (a curious name, she thinks, and wonders what could possibly be at the end of the World that she has not seen before. Thus far, she has a mixed impression of their culture: though not amazed by their fantastic appearances, she is intrigued by the number of adornments they carry about themselves. There are clearly some who are kind and good - healers, even - and others who look kindly upon strangers. And yet there must be something that gives children cause to worry, a reason for mothers to warn them about strangers. And while a Lady (Queen?)’s daughter is a potential valuable asset to an enemy, she thinks there also might be some… less kind beings out there. As there always are.

For the most part, Yael is silent, following the pair with her head down and wings still pressed tightly to her sides. She nods to signal that she heard the Doctor’s information regarding a herd to the south, and stores it away for later. There are already too many thoughts in her head to worry about whether or not she’s found the right herd - because that means she’s considering staying. Staying means giving up. Yael can’t give up right now.

Trailing behind the pale unicorn and the black and white pegasus, Yael takes little note of her surroundings; to be honest, the trees all look the same, and the field they cross means nothing when it’s all dead and brown. Brown turns to white as they head northwest, but even the beauty and calm of the first edge of winter cannot rouse the morose newcomer. At least the snow is insulating, Yael thinks, and the trees block some of the wind. They pass through a great, black, iron gate then continue on, making her wonder just how far they must go. Not that far, apparently, before they are met by a crooning stallion, who greets Lyanna familiarly. He shimmers like she does, and the gilded mare smiles slightly at the fellow Akhal - who would not, with his greeting?

”Shalom,” she says simply. Softly. “I ahm Yael.” Her name is all she has left. It must be enough.

like a jar, you housed infinite tenderness
and infinite tenderness shattered you

Toulouse. More foreign to her tongue than Lyanna, but it has a pleasantly 'round' sound, and seems to fit the jolly (and suave) stallion - ah, no - gelding? That in itself is alien to Yael, as procreation and continuing the religion and family line was quite important in her tribe. It makes no matter to her: just another peculiar fact of this Xeloveea. It makes no difference to her what species or gender friends are; her love knows no boundaries.

But then he answers her perfectly, and Yael starts, jerking her head around to look at him with wide eyes. No one has ever been able to answer her in her native tongue, nevermind knowing the correct response to her greeting. But this one knows both, and it brings around a whole other mess of mixed feelings: guilt dominates them all, as the culture of shame and honor that she grew up in rears its ugly head again. There is only one thing Yael can do, and she rattles off a question in her language, “Atah medaber ‘ivrit?” The words roll off her tongue with dull edges, rusted and clumsy from years of disuse. And yet every sound fills her mouth with sweet milk and honey, an unbridled moment of hope threatening to burst out in hope.

Of course, her hope is short-lived and dashed quickly to the frozen ground beneath them. Poor woman can’t catch a break. “Ah… loh. I mean, no.” With a shake of her head, Yael indicates that she’s never heard of T’det, though that should not come to a surprise to Toulouse, if it is an ancient name. She is not quite that old. “I ahm from Yisrael. My tribe leeved een Tzion, een ze Nort. Perxaps you xaf xeard of eet?” A brief pause. She was sheltered as a child. Perhaps this stranger would know more than she. “I ahm afraid I xaf not been very many places, really. Ahm I even eez ze same vorld right now? I do not know.” Her shoulders slump again, and she falls into silence as they continue walking.

A glass dragon brings an extra pain to her heart, but she hopes whatever outward twinge she may inadvertently let loose is missed while the other two converse. The trio comes to the edge of a cliff, and Yael steps close enough to just peer over the lip. She musters another smile, if only to put on a brave face. Ever polite, the golden mare begins to find a way to excuse herself. “You haf a lovely xome, t’ank you very much for takeeng me een. Eef you don’t mind… I should very much like to sleep and… find my bearings, yes? Ees eet alright to seek you bote out in a few days? I do not vant to be a burden vhile I am xere.”

The walk, the time it took them to get to the edge of the cliff has clearly calmed her hysterics enough for logic and exhaustion to set in. Even though she is only keeping herself together with frantic grasps at the threads and everything seems to be unraveling at a rapid pace, decorum and grace still win. The former Queen in her simply will not die.