what has sunk may rise, what has risen may sink;

[Joscelin]

The words whispers softly over the breeze, echoing insistently inside her mind. She hears them clearly, that young, curious girl who cannot resist discovery. She will follow them because she must, because that is her nature. But she is so young and carefree that she does not come immediately. She dawdles, attention caught by so many things, pulling her in all different directions. But it is there, a persistent call that she knew from that first moment she would heed. So she goes, meandering as she does. And eventually, she arrives.

Her golden gaze finds him immediately, the dark stallion that had called them all here. Called them all to find her. Who, she does not know. He has not told them. But she will find her. It is what she does best: finding things. Hunting, investigating, getting into trouble. She is the epitome of the curious youth, her nose immediately going where it does not belong. But it belongs here. She recognizes this with a certainty.

He is her grandfather, though she does not realize it. Her mother had never had the opportunity to meet him, and neither had she. In any case, nearly half the horses of the land can probably claim relation to him in some way or another. She is merely one in a long string of relatives. Not that she knows this. She is only here because he had called. And she had answered.

So she smiles, a bright smile full of innocence and delight, as her agreement spills from her lips.

I will go. I do so love to find things.

joscelin