Hestia has never been one to judge on appearance, as she does not fuss over her own. Slightly curvy due to Arab blood, a little smaller than her father, larger than her mother. Glossy black as is a common color. She is slender in weight, and muscle, but her bones are thicker as draft blood runs through her veins. It’s quite a strange mix, but muddled together on her, she looks how you’d expect an average young black mare to look. Pretty, but not all that fancy. How others can pick her out of a crowd still befuddles her. Maybe its her eyes? she does have strange eyes. Vibrant green, sharp in their stare. Right now, though they focus more on the water, as the wind whips long hairs across her vision. The female next to her replies, and Hestia doesn’t bother with answering back, it would just be a repetition of what she had already said. No reason to do that.
The water is calm right now, lying flat against the horizon, the sky above full of white fluffy clouds, with bright rays of sun peeking out from behind one particularly large one. The backdrop is crystal blue, pure in its unmarred paint. Nerine is beautiful in this way, though it took Hestia a long time to be able to appreciate it. At first she found it harsh, cold, and wet. So used to the Jungle and the loud thick foliage. Even louder animals who took residence with the women. How anyone could love this place she had no idea. But she didn’t complain, too happy to have a place to set some roots again. The mare is quiet, and Hestia can feel her gaze on her, so the queen turns from the shining waters to her companion. They lock eyes, reading each other, measuring and studying as to how much respect would be given/received. Hestia is undecided when the silence breaks, though she is open to hear what the other has to say. The wheels turning in her own head as to what this mare could possibly want. She continues to look to the other expectantly. There is nothing she can say right now. She is open to hearing the woman out, to debate on whatever it is that she desires.
Maybe they will come to an understanding, maybe they won’t. First things first, knowing what it is that there is to discuss. She’s given her name, and sadly it rings no bells for Hestia, she must have come after her time, but that matters little these days. If she’s got something to offer the kingdom then by all means the black mare is ready to let the talk begin. So, she waits comfortable in their quiet, understanding that matters would unfold naturally and she doesn’t need to make awkward small talk for once.
HESTIA
The devil whispered in my ear, “you’ll never survive the storm”
I whispered back, “I am the storm”
@[Heartfire] sorry for the wait D:
![[Image: 345k45w.jpg]](http://i65.tinypic.com/345k45w.jpg)