The initial silence lends to the slow rise of Ru’s neck feathers. Fluffing as she leaned back, and watched for any subtle hints or clues for the words that hide behind Lyanna’s lips. When they come, pointing to Toulouse’s unsavory methods – the girl frowns with a nod.

It surprises Ru that her friend feels responsible. That it had made sense to take on Toulouse’s actions when she couldn’t have possibly predicted them. An agent acting out on his or her own volition.

- I don’t know… The girl shakes her head with a disconcerting hum, low, trying to dissuade such thoughts. She resumes stillness as the voice travels on, taking pause, taking brief refuge before breaching their shared silence once more. A soft puff of air releases from Ru’s nostrils in the process, trying to ignore the frustration of having no words to communicate with.

The story, the experiences that live and thrive in the individual across from her shed more understanding. The sharpness in Ru’s eyes softens, both from internal thought and the imaginable heartache and struggle highlighted by the child’s trauma. Not that the child had meant much to Ru. She barely recognized the lack of either empathy or sympathy for the colt’s horror – strangely mute, and uncaring. Overlooking what she’d simply refused to consider, because the silence had taught her to move on – that such struggles could only make one stronger. The world did not protect her from its cruelties, nor shelter and sooth the aches from its wounds. Perhaps, because this wasn’t an act of nature, an act – that could have been prevented, that makes this predicament more severe.

It made Ru’s perception of the herd all the more fractured, and disconcerting. Without anyone to regulate what they stood for, or how to attain what is worthy of their people – how does one even attempt to grow honorable practices? Ru was momentarily struck with a sense of urgency that leapt from her chest; her feathered tail twitched slightly more, as her thoughts danced behind her eyes.

When Lyanna quiets and meets her with the well of emotions struck in her gaze, Ru hesitates. Uncertain, afraid to realize that her soul was corrupted with holes that would never leave, unfulfilled and susceptible to desire and carelessness – unruly and untaught by the lay of the land. Would Lyanna reject that?

Which only led to the reason why she had become the filly, the mare, the creature she was. Reminding the girl of the pain that once existed - like the pain and sorrow that exits in her friend's eyes now. Nearly choking out the sunlight from beyond the dark and gray skies – or the pleasures of a simple mind, which could only find her reprieve in the air.

She lets out a rattled coo. And for a moment she settles into old, familiar paths – extending her neck to offer a nuzzle against her friends neck. She offers a light chirp with the mentions of Birdsong. But the feelings that ebb from Lyanna's words appear to recall all sorts of things.

Of family, and the blurring memory of their faces and voices – scents long gone, to her thoughts and dreams. They are leaving her. Ru presses her forehead and the top of her cresting neck that attaches at the base of her head against Lyanna. Stepping away and nudging Lyanna's chin gently in a gesture of playfulness.

The time for tears has long since disappeared. And the mare assumes they can only hope, and push for change. Take the world by storm by shaping its structures; safeguard the future – if it’s possible. Idling simply won’t do anymore.

But her friend is faultless. Of that Ru is certain.