Who I am, Who I'm not [any]

[Osyva]

Her companion’s warmth feels strange upon her skin. Some time has passed since she had openly sought fellowship with another. In the Meadow there had been many, all strangers, all indifferent to the little golden child that had ventured in amongst them. She finds comfort knowing that she is not the only one that has endured pain. She eyes Wichita’s scars, fingering the grooves where the flesh has been broken. Osyva blinks at the pain in her companion’s voice, knowing all too well the sound of innocence lost. The mare collapses at Osyva’s feet in a puddle of sobs and salty tears. She offers a gentle touch of her lips upon Wichita’s silvery mane. She knows that there are no words that could undo the damage done to this mare, and so she lets the silence lie. Another has seen the incident, and cries out what can only be the sobbing mare’s name as she rushes towards them. Osyva lifts her head, hesitant to allow another any closer to the vulnerable mare at her feet. For a fleeting moment her ears bury themselves beneath the white of her mane, but when she sees the concern on Fiasko’s face, she realizes that this mare means no harm. Osyva hesitantly steps back. She is not sure if she should leave them. The newest addition seems to know Wichita, and Osyva is just a stranger. She has been gone for too long for anyone to remember her. She stands awkwardly, watching the exchange between the two mares, unsure of what to do.