An amused sort of line flutters onto my lips as an ear turns towards Kaj. I cannot help but wonder if he always speak so little, or if he's influenced by my silent company. Normally the quiet goads others to prattle on needlessly or to raise their voice, as if I'm hard of hearing and not dumb of tongue.

A few however, like Kaj, seem to adapt to my world.

For instance, rather than ask me what I'm doing Kaj meanders over to my dig site and thumps his large hoof against the ground with a questioning ring. I arch a 'brow at him, my mirth only expanding at this game of charades. I have always had the luxury of listening to others - never have I experienced the need to decipher. Of course I understand body language, likely better than most, but it has always been a supportive knowledge for me, not wholesome. I have always had my eyes and my ears to listen, but now Kaj has snuffed the latter out.

Kaj has become me, and I him.

Were it a different scenario and me the question asker rather than the giver, I might have felt more uncomfortable and better understood the frustration of my peers when dealing with me. As it is I brush towards him effortlessly; my steps go unheard save for the kiss of wet fluid being left on grasses which spring back to height.

I glance sidelong at the mare - Ree, she said her name is - as I position myself back above my meager indentation. I am glad she did not run off, as her flesh seemed to suggest she was in want to do before (who can blame her?). Boyishly I wonder what she thinks of us, Kaj and I, but perhaps selfishly I'm especially curious what she thinks of me. Did she like my little butterflies? Do I enchant her, or is my lack of speech a grotesque deformity and a display of weakness?

I sigh.
It's a low dismal sound; the noise of my brief affections for the pretty mare deflating under the weight of my unsubstantialities.

I wrench my attention back to my task at hoof, reminded how eager I am to complete it now that the pain of self-worth, or lack thereof, eats away at my conscious like a raw scab on a knee. I throw a black gaze to Kaj to instruct his attention, and then I drive my hood down purposefully into the ground. As I do this my ink has poured under my hoof, and as I lift it I reveal my dark drawing of a hidden gemstone. Another strike - some ink squishing around my hooves by mistake - and as I draw away the ink gem rises and fits about Kaj's neck on a chain of dark water.

I'm looking for an amulet. Or at least, the stone of one. Two, actually.