"Snow forms if the air in a cloud is below freezing. The water vapor then turns to ice instead of rain and the tiny ice crystals stick together until they form snowflakes. When they get heavy enough to fall, they drop out of the clouds."

For Rhiannon, it made perfect sense for her to be startled by the approach and abrupt words of a stranger. Her quiet inquiry had been answered, but not by Crowley or Talbot, who she had assumed would answer her question much later at home. Instead, a pale mare stood a few paces away, her golden orbs locked upon Rhiannon's lanky frame. The scrutiny made the filly somewhat uncomfortable, and for a moment she shifted in her spot, hooves shuffling left and right before her pride kicked in.

Lifting her head, Rhiannon gazed at the stranger with her dual-colored eyes, cranium poised almost haughtily. While the brindled filly was still young, and honestly hadn't met many others who resided in the Basin, it always filled her with some kind of uncertain fear whenever she did meet someone. After all, strangers could be dangerous, couldn't they? Yet the more that Rhiannon's eyes lingered upon the ivory mare that had startled her, the more she felt at east. The two, magnificent horns that protruded from the female's forehead were reassuring to see, and Rhiannon couldn't help but notice just how pretty the mare's mane and tail were.

Perhaps one day, hers could be like that. The thought made the short stump of her own tail flick, if only once.

"I guess that makes sense," Rhiannon responded eventually, meaning the pale female's words about snow and how it was made. Truly, it didn't make any sense to the filly. What was a 'vapor'? Heck if she knew. "I mean, yeah, vapor and stuff. Makes the snow. I should've guessed that."

Then, the mare introduced herself, and explained how she knew Rhiannon's parents. Well, duh. Who didn't know Crowley and Elizabeth? Arah certainly did. It was a pretty name, Rhiannon thought, a good name to suit such a pretty mare. "My name is Rhiannon, but my Papa calls my Nonnie. Only he can call me Nonnie, though! Okay?" The words were accentuated by a bristling from the filly, her shoulders rolling back as she squared them and her tiny, ebony chest puffing out in a sad attempt of intimidation. The thought of someone else calling her 'Nonnie' was deeply unsettling for the youngling, who took to her father like white on snow. Or something like that.

"My parents," Rhiannon answered, turning her head left and right as if searching for them. Upon not seeing them, the youngling grinned broudly, small tail thumping against her dark rear. "Are doing boring 'adult' things. I'm out here playing, 'cause I was bored in the cave, and Talbot wasn't there to play with me. So, I'm here." The brindled filly then paused, gold and silver eyes narrowing as if scrutinizing Arah's pale form. "Why are you here? Did you come to play? 'Cause, if you did... You gotta know the secret horn-shake."

This so-called 'horn' shake was nothing even remotely fancy, just a mere bump between horns. It was something that Rhiannon had developed doing to Crowley, simply because she could. Much like how she would bump her meager, blunt growing horns against the Weaver's leg in greeting.