All the Pretty Little Horses || HESTIA

[Amarantha]

The ocean reminded her of her child. It's mournful song a soft reminder of what she had done to get here. A reminder of the things she would have to do to stay here. When the first woman joins her silence envelops them both like an old friend, its arms squeezing them almost painfully. In no time they are joined by another equally as quiet. Between the two Rant senses centuries of history, their stories pulsing like maggots upon days old war grounds. It is in the silence that the molten mar begins to speak. Her words are brief, however, and soon there is a silence once more.

"Your intuitions are correct."

The voice that erupts it gravely and water-worn from days of silence. Rant was like that. Speaking was a last resort for the olive witch. It was something she avoided entirely if possible. 

"I am Amarantha, a wanderer."

Perhaps today the title would change. She had come to listen for once. Though she speaks her voice stays trained on the broiling ocean, her eyes a pale mirror for the creatures lurking beneath. 

"A pleasure to meet you."

Beside her, Hestia has stayed silent. This does not shock the multi-toned mare however, it simply soothes her.