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.