There had to be more to challenges than raw, animal instinct. More than the basest of needs to out power, out maneuver, subdue to the point of – what? Uselessness? How could the collective function, recover and learn from trauma like that? Perhaps the herd was not as cohesive as Ru had first thought it to be. Not as groomed to perfection, from dwindling warrior ranks to the bickering, bloody notes of the two opponents below her.

For the most part she could hardly hear them, ignored their voices while they fought. She instead analyzed their bodies for their styles, their tricks, strengths and deficits.

It was upon her arrival – as she kept a close eye on the pair – that Ru made a wide circle before settling down on the snow covered outskirts. Numb to the politics that hummed and churned beyond her. Bright indigo eyes watching the later half of the fight, for she was far too late to witness the initial response.

The boy’s cry brings an ear to him, but excludes her gaze and concern. She is more amazed by the mare’s hesitation with the sound of her babe’s words beckoning for her safety. That part of Ru did not exist in that moment, far too invested in the way that stallion slithered and snapped at his opponent. How the mare reeled in defense, as if she struggled to stay afloat with an emotion digging deep claws into her being. None that Ru could recognize by experience – but as the fight progressed, it appeared as if that costly mistake quickened the mare’s steps. Enthralled her being into action, making it beyond the cliff.

Iron and the fine wine of relief appears to draw the stranger back to the crowd. It is done – and it is hanging still in the air, as witnesses have a chance to swallow the bitter taste down. Ru’s heart is thrumming in her ears; the proceedings have made her anxious. And she is not yet ready to resolve the conflict, draw away from it all as she finally considers the gathering. There are few faces she recognizes – one, that contrasts against the monochromes.

She will be busy, Ru hums.

The dunskin girl shuffled idly in her spot, wings clutched close to her sides. She casts the lithe, delicate stallion a sidewise glance. Uncertain of his intentions should he loose favor to the title he coveted. Encouraged by the blood that coursed through her veins, the high – despite the wounds assaulting both opponents – ushers the youth to the group. Gazing back, now and then, upon Toulouse with blank eyes. Standing beside the edge of witnesses waiting to embrace the pale, injured mare.