Ree.

Loneliness is a terrible thing. Ree can’t help the small ache of sadness as the butterflies slowly disperse and fade away into nothing, and she wishes that it were only so easy. To diminish one’s self completely, to be invisible and untouchable, granted freedom from all the ailments in this world, of the body and the heart. The bay mare’s attention returns to the strangers she has found herself conversing with, and she watches the two with bashful reservation, hazel eyes bright and curious, doe like and innocent. There is something that exchanges between them, a fleeting emotion she cannot name, but it lingers in the winged stallions eyes, and the shadowed boy seems subdued. She attempts to meet his dark eyes, but his glance is fleeting, and the sigh that he expels disheartens her, and again she contemplates simply slipping back into the tall grass from whence she came. Did she bother them? Was she simply another irritation in their day?

Uncertain and without confidence she shuffles her hooves in the sand of the Heart, eyes down cast and watching the dust curl up in lazy figures like smoke into the air. She catches a glimpse of the obsidian stallion, so much smaller in stature than his winged companion, painting a picture, like liquid black around Kaj’s neck. Tentative, unsure of her place within this unlikely triangle, she tries to watch without being too forth right, too obvious, afraid of what retribution she might receive if caught. She is fascinated though, drawn to the obsidian boy’s pictures with childish glee, and perhaps with the boy himself- because he is different, and so is she.

“This is Ink, my brother.”

Kaj’s kind voice fills the silence, warm and deep and comforting. Ree’s ears flit atop her petite head amid the mess of her windswept forelock, and she beams at the winged stallion with appreciation. She begins to understand as she studies the dynamic further, though she believes she understood before, that Ink’s pictures are his words. Kaj is a good soul, an individual who is innately virtuous, and Ree can sense the benevolence in him, the sincerity of his character palpable like the beat of a steady heart. He speaks for Ink, when he cannot speak for himself, though speech is defined in many ways, and she thinks that his pictures do just as well. But through actions Ree can tell without being told that Kaj cares for his friend, his brother, and she yearns for the same affection, the same belonging. It is something she has yet to find, though not for lack of trying.

Gathering the mustard seed of courage that she has left, she attempts to be bold and looks toward Ink again as Kaj brandishes his wing, a sheepish grin at the edges of her lips, summer green eyes bright and impish as she watches them both.

“Ink.” She says simply, sweetly, testing his name like the first cool sip of water during a tallsun morning. After a brief moment of hesitation she cautiously moves forward toward them both, and then with careful attention she drags her own hoof through the red sand of the Heart’s soil, though her purpose is unlike theirs. Though it is rudimentary and hardly artistic, the outline of a butterfly slowly appears at before their hooves. Ree steps back when she finishes, a childish grin of accomplishment chasing away any hint of fear that previously hindered her as she admires her work.