She has always kept to herself, and being given a job that has bestowed on her a pool all to herself has pretty much turned her into a recluse. Except for that nagging feeling in the back of her head that keeps reminding her to leave the damn pool, because she’s supposed to be doing things. Supposed to be living. Whatever that meant. She still couldn’t entirely grasp the point of this mortal life. Wake up, toil away, sleep, do it again. One day, die. So what was the actual point of it all? Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

So why does she keep doing it? Stubbornness, mostly. She refuses to die. Dying would be giving up, and if nothing else, she cannot bring herself to completely give up. There must be something worth living for, even if she was only living long enough to earn a place in the waves with her sisters one day. To earn some bits of magic that vaguely resemble what she could once do. But changing color in the water and making seaweed grow were merely parlor tricks.

Eventually, she rouses herself from the pool (mostly because it is cold as hell in there lately), and begins to wander the Falls. Like always, it is quiet, though less so than when she moved back. There’d been almost no one around then. At least now, there was life to be heard rustling in the trees, a few conversations that drifted on the cold Frostfall wind. Not that she found herself going toward any of them. Instead, she just wandered, figuring that counted as doing something without forcing a conversation.

It isn’t until she stumbles (almost literally, but not quite) on a vaguely familiar stallion that she decides she might as well try talking to someone. And really, only because she figures she can’t just turn tail and run after coming this close to someone else. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she says at first, because he looks like he’s concentrating on something. A piece of metal? There’s something in the snow that apparently is fascinating, but hell if she knows just exactly why this inanimate object is fascinating. This is Helovia though, so she doesn’t question it, either.

She remains silent for a moment, ocean eyes looking the stallion over with some level of recognition, trying to come up with a name. It takes her a few heartbeats too long before she finally figures it out. “Dragomir?” It is a question, of sorts. In some ways, she’s making sure she’s right. In others, she’s simply surprised he came. Particularly after her behavior in the Threshold. Though her deadpan voice doesn’t give much away, though there’s half a question in the name, and that’s about all he’s likely to get

les words "chat chat"

Syrena

let the water take me