The chestnut mare has never in her life been greeted by anything less than good-natured surprise, and so the wary way that the brindle mare responds is, for a moment, offputting. Instinct tells her to do the same, to step away, to keep herself from whatever danger the unknown mare may threaten. But Djinni has had most of her instinct bred out of her by generations of ancestors that lived within the safe boundaries of kingdoms rather than in wild herds, so instead of eyeing Raxa back, Djinni just stops her perhaps overly-friendly approach, and keeps a comfortable distance from the roan mare.
She does not need the warning snort, but she heeds in anyway, taking a single step back in case that was something else the stranger wanted. Djinni is too friendly, but she has never been accused of being rude.
Though she sees Raxa’s eyes linger on her accessories, Djinni doesn’t comment, having decided that perhaps it is best to let up on her attempt at friendship. Not everyone is here for friendship, after all, she reminds herself; some of them are here for vastly different reasons, and she mustn’t assume.
“I’m sure you will,” She replies, trusting that the mare will, eventually, outrun the bird. To Djinni, who has never bothered to exert herself for a moment, the idea is ludicrous, but she imagines that the brindle mare must have something of an iron will.
“It’s nice to meet you, Raxa.” Djinni replies, falling back on the niceties she had learned as a foal at her mother’s side. Princesses are polite, Aseret had said, Princesses do not make others uncomfortable. “What brings you to the Field today? Are you new to Beqanna?” to many question, perhaps, a little nosey, even. It has been a long time since Djinni was at her mother’s side though, and time has a way of changing manners.