04-08-2015, 12:07 PM
Well, she isn't a man, but she isn't the most feminine mare you've ever seen either. Quorra hasn't been here since she was here, looking for a home, herself. She begrudgingly makes her way back towards the field, glancing around for any 'targets'. Since abandoning her daughter and having frankly no idea what to do in her new kingdom, she needs distraction. Recruitment seems both a sensible and useful form of distraction, in lack of any better things to do.
The buckskin roan stands alone of a flat expanse of grass, day-dreaming and glancing around without much purpose to where she was looking. It was by chance that her honey-eyes wandered onto the figure of another mare (there seems to be a distinct lack of stallions around Beqanna at the moment, or so her musings suggest). The girl gives off an almost arrogant appearance, for certainly she is proud. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. The Valley might use someone like her, someone that knows her mind.
Quorra advances slowly, almost gingerly. She lacks the confidence of the mare she is about to try and recruit. What's the worst that can happen? The girl can turn around and tell her to shove it? Well, then she'd just try again elsewhere. No great worries. Or so she tries to convince herself.
The buckskin smiles, as warmly as she can muster, but it probably still looks forced. This is certainly not her natural habitat. She flicks her black mane from her face, to better square up to this new-Beqannian. "I'm Quorra, of the Valley. If you're looking for a home, I'm here to offer it," she says, trying to sound bold, sure of herself. It probably hasn't worked.
The buckskin roan stands alone of a flat expanse of grass, day-dreaming and glancing around without much purpose to where she was looking. It was by chance that her honey-eyes wandered onto the figure of another mare (there seems to be a distinct lack of stallions around Beqanna at the moment, or so her musings suggest). The girl gives off an almost arrogant appearance, for certainly she is proud. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. The Valley might use someone like her, someone that knows her mind.
Quorra advances slowly, almost gingerly. She lacks the confidence of the mare she is about to try and recruit. What's the worst that can happen? The girl can turn around and tell her to shove it? Well, then she'd just try again elsewhere. No great worries. Or so she tries to convince herself.
The buckskin smiles, as warmly as she can muster, but it probably still looks forced. This is certainly not her natural habitat. She flicks her black mane from her face, to better square up to this new-Beqannian. "I'm Quorra, of the Valley. If you're looking for a home, I'm here to offer it," she says, trying to sound bold, sure of herself. It probably hasn't worked.