She is used to being on her own.
She is shy, truly, and shies away from the groups of various equines that are scattered, meeting, throughout this grassy plain. It has always been hard for her to be around others; she is introverted, soft spoken, and finds herself as others' doormats more often than not. She has grown in character and in strength since she was young, but she still finds herself in sticky situations, torn between wanting to be outspoken and to be pushed about; it is easier for her to obey then to defy, and she knows this will cause her problems but she knows better than to resist a stubborn stallion.
So she grazes, spotted body partially hidden by a tree, the budding leaves sending sunlight-given dapples onto her already colored hide. She is at peace and alone, just as she prefers to be. She wouldn't say she wasn't lonely - often at night she craves the companionship or the love of another, mind crying out for someone to save her from this self-induced isolation. Yet she remains too shy to strike up a conversation, her ears flicking about to search for any noise that may suggest she move from her little grove.
She remembers herself as a child, one full of spirit and confidence about things she didn't know. As she grew, that confidence slipped into insecurities, influencing her actions and her voice; she prefers not to speak, or if she must, to speak very little and very softly to avoid the embarrassment she knows may befall her at any time. She isn't clumsy, exactly, but nervous - it is in her nature to be wary, to be shy, for she is still unsure of what is friend, and what is foe.
e l e n d i l
love her, but leave her wild