When he sidles up beside her, she knows. There is something off about him, something missing, but she does not have the time to puzzle it out – at least not now. Living by the seaside, she’s never had reason to question Stillwater’s perpetual nearness to the water, and so she does not know that the dampness of his hide is a novelty. Perhaps, given time and enough thought, she’ll put it together, but she lacks that now. Instead, she looks over her shoulder at him, the expression on her face a blend of exasperation and affection, as though he is a character often given to lurking behind her despite repeated good-faith efforts to have him join the crowd. Let them think he is skulking but beloved; perhaps it will endear him to them.
The next to arrive is a bay mare, and while the tone of Neon’s introduction had been perfectly pleasant, it seems that this mare is here to play the grullo’s foil. The first thing she says is that there is no structure to the kingdom, something that startles a frown on Djinni’s black face. No army? No diplomats? What exactly had she done by taking away their King? Have they been floundering since, purposeless and unguided? Is she responsible for this?
No – she has no responsibilities. She refuses to. This is not her fault.
As the bay continues to speak it becomes ever more clear that she’s not happy with the change in leadership. Welcome to the club, sweetheart, she doesn’t say. She’d much rather be teasing Stillwater beside the sea, but instead fate has put her here in this forest, and she’s damn determined to give it a good effort (at least until she gets bored).
“A heads up from Marlyn would’ve been nice,” she agrees, fairly certain that such an answer won’t be what Arrya expects, but Djinni is careful to play what few cards she has. “But she felt searching for them was important too.” She doesn’t address the fact that Arrya’s not seen her before; was she supposed to have sought them all out when she arrived last autumn? Stillwater is still clearly new, smelling of salt and the sea, but she’s clearly been here a while.
“You can call me Djinni,” she replies, and then gestures behind her, “And that’s Stillwater.”
She’s never explicitly told Marlyn that she wasn’t Raene, after all. At first she’d intended to keep up the ruse for as long as possible (and really, for the past few weeks she’s done a bang-up job) but she doesn’t like being changeless for so long. Raene’s color changing – while acceptable – is not enough to keep Djinni content forever.
“If you were planning to create a guard, we can do that. Like I said, I don’t intend to change anything that doesn’t need changing. If this really is the majority of the kingdom - ” she looks toward the black stallion who has admitted this - “then perhaps we’ve no need of the traditional kingdom structure. A guard, a few horses that’ll be there to greet newcomers, perhaps some volunteers to see what the other lands are up to…”
She pauses here, looking curious, and asks Arrya and Akkadian, the two horses that have clearly been here the longest of those assembled. “Are there any diplomatic ties between Sylva and the rest of the new lands? Perhaps after we create a guard that should be the next priority.” The black stallion is clearly a warrior, and her ears had pricked at the hard consonants of his given name – something about them reminds her of her djinn’s desert. He stands in a way that seems protective of Arrya, but is no so close that she suspects him of siring the child she smells of – one that Djinni is sure had been left safely away from a meeting with strangers.
black spotted blanket appaloosa with