deep roots are not reached by the frost - any

[Merida]

Merida

from the ashes, a fire shall be awoken

‘Are you the queen of this beautiful place?’
 
The mare turns her head slowly towards the duo, brows rising in amusement as the phrase meets her ears, meant for flattery as if sweet words will make her more susceptible to their presence. She nearly balks at the idea. Queen? Surely not. Her blazing red eyes sparkle with the mere thought and their entirely wrong impression of her as she stands beside them. She is short and muscular, the fiery red tendrils of her mane and tail tangled haphazardly across the freckled red of her black skin, like smoldering embers upon her haunches and withers. Her eyes search them unabashedly, first looking at the pale cream and gold painted mare that stands near the glittering stallion that shines like a bronze statue in the autumnal sun. Her eyes graze to him, his bright and kind eyes watching her enthusiastically for a response.
 
How disappointed is he, she wonders, when she turns her head from him and her eyes roll slightly upwards in exasperation? She is about to ramble on about queens and kings, monarchies and caste systems, how downright caging the whole thing truly is, but Merida is, of course, unable to speak before the sound of wind against broad wings fill the open expanse.
 
The navy-pointed mare is not at all hesitant to join the conversation, though Merida cannot help but allow a tiny twitch of her onyx lips pull into a smirk, knowing full well that the buckskin mare was certainly a bit unsure as to how Merida would greet these strangers. Not quite the ideal resident, she knows. Truth is, Merida isn’t even sure how she would have greeted them – her fiery personality shifts with the wind, unable to gauge a reliable reaction to different situations.
 
Today she was in a pleasantly good mood, but only because now there were three characters before her instead of none. Though she is aware the conversation will most likely be of diplomatic nature with talks of alliances and other bouts of information, she continues to stand between them all with a passive expression. Heda immediately asks for the reason for their visit – good call. Her eyes flick to the painted girl on the other side of the stallion, wondering if she enjoys being caught up in the midst of kingdom duties as she did (which was not very much at all).
 
Red tendrils of her tail lick like flames against the freckle of her haunch, snapping lazily as it brushes her skin. “You,” she says suddenly with a jerk of her chin to the mare who has been as silent as she has. Time to put that to an end. “What’s your name?”

@[Tangerine] @[Amet] @[Heda]