He does not seem the kind to smile easily, and Djinni is not off put by his cool demeanor. If anything, she is intrigued by the way the cold spirals off his skin like steam off a sulfuric lake. He is cold like Brennen is sometimes cold, and she wonders if the two dark-haired men have ever had a chance to meet. Perhaps they will someday, she thinks; it will be more probably than not if she succeeds today.
“Sylva is well,” she tells him truthfully, her gaze flicking to the melding of her fiery canopy and his firs overhead. It is quiet, as it always is, and that is what has brought her here. The grey mare lacks the drive of her own monarch, but she is equally (and perhaps even more) cunning. More importantly, she has begun to realize the importance of a homeland. She had mocked the amazons for it only a few years ago, and now she thinks of the fire forest even when dozens of miles away. The Sylva forest has cemented a place in Djinni’s heart, and now she wants to be sure that it will be cemented in Beqanna.
Whole lands had been stripped away in the Reckoning, and she is not ready to let that happen again. If she has to take measures (take responsibility) that she’d usually avoid…then so be it. She will take the measures.
“I came for both of our woods,” she tells the spotted stallion, “To see if you would want to join me in making sure they stay safe.”