The crisp smell of flourishing fauna drifted to the silver mare's naves, accompanied by the earthy scent of dried dirt and damp moss. Her liquid gold orbs surveyed the area as her ears flitted this way and that, picking up on even the slightest sound. It was days like this that the femme felt most alive, like she was perfectly in tune with the world around her. It was a feeling that she had not been able to experience recently; the World's Edge was just too far away to make a daily trek to the Threshold worthwhile, not that the pure beauty of the realm wasn't worth such a journey.

What am I saying? I came here not too long ago in search of a party to welcome, although that would be making an excuse for my initial excuse to come here... And now all that I have accomplished is making myself confused. The mustang snorted in reply to her musings, not impressed with the logic that she was trying to convince herself with.

Pushing her short, charcoal legs through a group of ferns, the mare raised her gaze from the fan-like bushes to a quivering branch, streaked with crimson marks. As the equine drew nearer, the metallic scent of blood drifted over her, suddenly making all of her senses run off-kilter. Fighting to control her panic -- nostrils flared, eyes bulging and all -- Sulwyn forced herself to move past the saturated branch, careful not to brush her fur against it. Although her instincts told her that the smell of blood meant a predator was close by, the mustang knew that newcomers were very common in this region, so the presence of blood did not necessarily mean that there was any sort of threat in the area. Even if her reasoning was plausible, the petite fae was still on edge.

Following the path of crushed and downtrodden foliage, Sulwyn stopped short at the distant sight of a mare, her head held high in fright and her brow brandishing a gleaming weapon. She knew, form past experience, that a wounded horse was a horse that was quick to fight -- or flight -- and the smaller mare wasn't keen on the former. The glint of the sharp-edged horn didn't look like it would be very forgiving on her sun-marked hide.

Just to be safe, the grulla called out to the shadowy mare, "Is anything the matter, miss? Are you hurt? Stand still, and I will come to you."
ooc