No longer did the trees whisper sweet melodies unto her ears, nor did the grasses wave at her eagerly in desire for her to lay upon them and doze. Was it the shift in power that had so destroyed her home? Or was it the quickening loss of her own innocence? Nobody was around to taint her and yet she felt as old as time itself. Scar along her thin body no longer ached, as it had healed nearly two seasons ago, but the dark charcoal and coral score over her hide was hideous. A constant reminder that Nayati was unwanted from before she had drawn her first breath. Conflictingly it also reminded her of when Svetlana had found her, crying and bleeding out in the snow of the Threshold in deep Frostfall and saved her. These memories clashed fiercely, both wanting emotional control over that healed line of skin. Nayati used to jump at every shadow and twitch, every trilling bird and shifting leaf. That was how she had soon met Resplendence, who had shown her that even in the darkness of fear your own courage could be a blindingly beautiful guiding light. Insanity, too, had impacted her in this very land. Instead of coddling her, the dark femme had gruffly told her to hold onto her youth and innocence lest she turn cold. Nice as it was to be coddled and loved- especially for one starved of so much attention- Nayati had amazingly loved the blunt and brutal honesty Insanity threw at her. Toughening her up.

Romani.

Slow footsteps shuddered and she faltered, long curtain of locks falling and swaying around her like a waterfall. Dark ruby and rose hued irises stared down at the paleness of her hoof against the emerald backdrop of the grass. Beside it lay a single crumpled leaf, slightly damp from the recent rains of Orangemoon. No longer a brilliant orange, it had dulled and drooped into the stages of umber as it withered away. Even at ten months, her hoof was hardly the same size of the maple leaf, and black nostrils flared to reveal the salmon color within as she angrily frowned. Fighting may not suit her build or personality, but Nayati despised how small and frail she was. Would her height ever budge over fourteen hands? Would her restless behavior ever allow her to eat enough to put on weight? Living in the Wilds, returning to the Foothills only at night during the two seasons Romani and Bale had been gone, the spotted princess had grown thin and wiry. Lean muscles did not decorate her form, nor any athletic build of the sort. Instead she seemed lost in the ever-growing tangles of her hair, a frail figure that could snap at the lightest brush or breeze. Perfect ivory locks trailed along the ground, tail having reached such a length long ago but only recently had her mane joined it in reverently caressing the earth.

Flowers bloomed comfortingly in said locks, ranging in shades she had not even known existed. Like a gentle lulling perfume they surrounded her, lovingly chasing her heels wherever she went. Awakening her with a large bed of them every time she closed her carmine eyes for rest. Nayati loved them, though they were not sentient and could not return the affections she felt towards them. The Earth Lord had not forgotten her, and with every quickly blossoming flower she thanked him for giving her exactly what she had wanted. Needed, even, to continue on without giving up or letting herself be taken to death to meet Svetlana once more. To the small princess, they were little symbols of hope. A reminder that someone loved her, that she was not as alone as she often felt in this big world.

Frail form was not welcoming to the subtle shift from heat to brisk winds. Orangemoon was the awakening for her, as it always brought about the first hints of her coughing and bloody lips. For as long as she could remember, the teensy princess had weak lungs that made cold months painful. Already her throat itched and she couldn't help but spread tiny coal lips, thin chest constricting as she feebly coughed out a dry sound that didn't fit her youth. Sighing softly into the cooling air, she began to turn back towards the place she had claimed with Bale. It was starting to get dark, and Nayati was uncomfortable leaving her cherished friend at the hour they both feared. What stopped her was a single word, one with three syllables and six letters. Her name.

The breath that left her maw the second time around was not a sigh, but a sharp exhale of surprise as if she had been kicked in the ribs. So long, she had thought the owner of that voice would never return. Even if she did, Nayati had resigned herself to the possibility that she would never remember the spotted fae's name again. Yet, the voice plucked a sweet chord inside her heart that sadness and bitterness could never cut. Even if Romani had forgotten her, desiring a companion more than her love, Nayati's heart still lay with the coppery mare that had taken her in without a second thought when Svetlana was kidnapped. At such an age, still awed by Svetlana, the doll had only considered the warrior an aunt figure. Over time, she had evolved into the mother her own had never been. That scar would always remind her to love her children.

Away from her thoughts, which had fluttered to and fro like a nervous bird, scarred legs had frozen as if encased in ice to the earth below. Heart tugged her on towards those anxious vocals. Resentment kept her grounded. Foal in her called for her to run to Romani's side, let herself be held and protected- cherished. Wisdom and Hurt attacked her childish side relentlessly, a foe with only three participants and herself being tugged around in the middle. It hurt.

In the end, Nayati couldn't remain strong any longer. For two seasons she had lived alone, taking care of herself and growing in ways she had never expected or desired. It was evolve or expire out there, and her panic attacks had nearly killed her quite a few times. Presently, she felt far older than her ten months. So much had occurred, and Nayati was no longer the innocent young doe she had once been. Life was hard, and at such a young age she had managed to care for herself when nobody else would. How that would change her in the future was yet to be seen, but Nayati didn't focus on that anymore. Hearing fond nickname called worriedly into the slowly changing day-dusk, Nayati's legs were unfrozen without any realization. Tiny limbs moved her forward at an awkward pace that shifted from cantering to running. Finding Romani was something she needed to do lest she go crazy, but Nayati had not yet forgiven her and was unwilling to make herself seem as if she had run eagerly to her call. Which, she technically was.

Flash of golden red, flick of flaxen.

Nayati's heart skipped at least a dozen beats, and yet her body was moving before her mind could catch up or change the course she was taking. Shouldering free of the foliage always around, Nayati's wide ruby orbs met Romani's sapphire head on. Once more the air rushed from her frail lungs, and with that small motion the appearance of strength she wore shattered. Knees quaked, lip trembled, and rose eyes filled with a small glaze of tears. Old as she may feel, and wisdom of others far older she may have, but Nayati was still a young foal. A touch-starved, attention-deprived youth that needed to be told every day she was precious lest she doubt her own existence. Croaking, she took a few wobbling steps forward towards the warrior that no longer smelled of home-not-home. "Mo-...R-Roma..." No, Romani had been round with child when she had last seen her. She would not like Nayati calling her 'mom' or 'mother'. Quickly her tongue flicked out different sounds to form the nickname she'd given Romani back when speaking was a difficult luxury. The lengths she had made in advancing towards Romani suddenly quivered to a halt. No more courage was left in her body, spent up in internal turmoil and tracking down the mare she loved and resented nearly equally. "Roma..." again she whimpered. Romani would have to advance those last few steps, Nayati could go no farther. Either they would meet halfway, or all would be lost in memories and what-if's.