Another comes then, and gives Nayati such a start she chokes on a sob. It takes her a minute to stomp down the fluttering in her chest that warns her of an oncoming panic attack, but soon she has it under control and her shaky breathing stills. Nadira is a familiar face, one she knows from the harrowing moment when she had run into Romani in their home. It is not a memory she finds pleasant, considering her own calm and inconspicuous nature had been shattered at that moment. Nadira is safe, a friend, but Nayati doesn’t know if she can huddle against her side once more like the pale woman had allowed her to on that day. Argetlam, though she does not know his name, is large and intricate with the way he shapes the material at his hooves. He scares her, as everyone scares her, and yet his face is kind and soft. Large rubies regard him carefully, weighed down by experiences that should not lay upon her shoulders or mind at her young age. His words are as soft as he seems and shyly she turns her crown from him, as if ashamed that she looks down in the first place. No matter how she tries she can never seem to be happy on some days. Today is just one of those days. He move forward and Nayati’s first instinct is to run, to get away from this massive stallion that could so easily harm her. Yet his movements are slow, and she merely twitches her listeners nervously. The pale princess allowed him to touch her forelock in such a gentle manner, and she managed a smile that was soft as the light of daybreak but as shaky as a leaf when forced into strong wind. When he slips away from her to speak she finds herself reaching out to him, to return the gesture that made her feel a little more loved despite having just met him. Tiny black smudged muzzle pressed against his, exchanging scents and locking his into place in her mind. Pressing, nuzzling, caressing his much larger maw in a friendly way that spoke every word she couldn’t say verbally. Then he is looking at her as if he is apologetic for some reason, and he moves away. Nayati is momentarily saddened, but retreated into herself quietly and without complaint. He is still smiling when he does, so she keeps her own on her face, small and unassuming.

Then it is time for the adults to speak, and she folds back into her bubble of silence that keeps her safe. Even so Argetlam’s cheery tone is enough to make her smile a little stronger and she watches them beneath albino white lashes. You do not interrupt adults, you worthless wretch. They are better than you, you are merely a stain in their conversation. Unless you are directly spoken to, you do not open your filthy mouth. It’s a lesson she learned well from Mother, and it is written on the inside of her ribs verbatim. Perhaps the wording is terrible, but it does the trick. She doesn’t speak, and merely prods at her flowers with a pale hoof. Cascading alabaster locks are outdoing themselves, growing impossibly fast. Already, before a full cycle of seasons in her life, it reaches past her shoulder in length. Her plume is already trailing along the ground like a ribbon of snow. It hides her face from view when she bows it, studying the flowers that twist up in green shoots, the buds twisting open into full bloom like accelerated growth. It’s fascinating to watch, seeing it grow from a seed of magic into an adult plant within a few moments.

He moves once more and she glances up at him from beneath her veil of silver white locks. Staring at the object he holds in his teeth, a necklace for sure. It is beautiful, with a flower twisted at the point where the chain connects. She is in awe of it, and her face glows with curiosity and respect for the craft he wields. It is slid over her neck, and Nayati prides herself on only giving a small flinch instead of shying away. It settles like flowing water over her shoulders, comfortable and new. She stares down at it, albino eyes taking in the flower, the symbol meaning so much more to her than Argetlam could have possibly known. His name is given to her then, and she smiles at his words sincerely. ”Y-Yes, I will,” she murmured quietly, face alight with joy. Realizing she had not spoken other than praising his craft, she knew to give her own name in return. ”I-I’m Nayati.” It’s a simple confession, but it is an extension of trust between the two of them, a bond that shows that she will stay. If she had not given it, she could have disappeared without him remembering her very clearly, and names are quite important to her. She moves back to smiling down at her necklace when Argetlam shuffled over to Nadira, enveloped in a light of warmth that she was reluctant to leave.