12-21-2015, 09:12 PM
Roan resembled a shaggy unkempt pony left out in the field too long; that's just how her body had adapted in order to thrive here. She assumes he probably looks the same except on a grander (more normal) scale because she was under the impression that he was not nearly as unkempt as her nor as little. Then again, most were not all bird-bones and thinness beneath their thick hairy pelts like Roan was (that was the mark of Loam’s get - thin little mares except for the big red freak Mordant that was Roan’s unknown twin).
She hears him sniffing and that's when it occurs to her that he might be like her - blind. It is impolite to ask though so she whuffs in the quiet way that horses do to put him further at ease. Roan isn't exactly sure how to behave around him but he definitely doesn't seem threatening and she relaxes her stance a bit, becoming less rigid than she was in that initial tense moment during which they met. He confirms her fears - some other stallion is king here and it seems like her father's name is only in the annals of history now, stricken from their lips and that's why his scent grows fainter on the air by the minute.
An ear shifts uneasily at the sound of his movement but she only responds to it with a muzzle that searches out his own for a brief bump of solidarity. She sighs happily, comforted by the knowledge that she won't likely be turned away if she wished to stay. It is a rare thing, to be sure, that a mare would choose this over another gentler life but some part of Roan knew there was hardship to be faced no matter where she went so why not here? It was a land she knew best and relief fills the thin features of her face, just stopping them short of being lovely. “I'm glad I won't have to go.” she admits, entirely too honest with him. “Oh, I'm Roan by the way,” she adds, chuckling like any green filly would because her father had taught her manners but it seemed that she had forgotten them the first chance she gets to use them - so much for propriety!