this is the howling at the moon, exemplary, any

[Astara]

Astara flinched slightly when the unknown stallion said, "Hello." She'd come upon him unexpectedly, though in truth, her approach had not been too careful. Only a few days ago had she arrived in the Dale, guided by the friendly mare Zara. Astara, however, was most often anything but friendly. She was cold, agitated most times--but not without a cause, a daily pain.

She'd lost her herd to many disasters, and one day, she lost her mother as well. Suddenly, her life had become nothing of what she imagined: a life of loneliness and grief. She wanted a cure from it, hoped she would one day find it--but not yet. Until then, she'd be snide, or find even more misery trying to hold back how she felt.

Astara remained quiet for a moment or two after the stallion spoke, finding her curiosities awakened. He was very different, in ways she could see and ways she could only sense, from any other horse she had met. The mare remained behind him, her legs and body stiff, having not a clue it was the king of the land she happened to stumble upon.

"Hello..." she returns slowly. "It's not often I come upon another in my path here."

The Dale is empty, quiet, but Astara doesn't know why. Given her hard nature, it suits her, but maybe not all.