Oh look, oh my star is fading
To Wrynn, Sunday is something of an unknown quantity. Not a scary one, certainly – although Wrynn isn't easily scared – but simply one that she isn't familiar with. Mind you, that describes the vast majority of all horses in the world; Wrynn is still very young, not even yet a yearling, and she's been something of a quiet girl, something of a loner ever since she'd been born. But for all of that, she's got a lot going on, she just tends to play it close to her chest. Like, for instance, the fact that she's recently made a bunch of new, very close friends. They just happen to be dead.
She'd met them in the depths of hell, at the end of a quest that took her through horrors of the world that would have broken many others. She'd done it all for love, for someone else's love – Carnage's love, although she is too much an innocent in Beqanna to understand just how ironic that statement truly is. She doesn't know him, doesn't know that he doesn't love, all she knows is that love is good, and that he lost the one he loved, and that therefore she was going to help him get her back.
Ultimately she did, kind of.
"And you met us." she's not startled by the way the words appear in her brain, not anymore. She's used to them now, the friends who had sent her home. She welcomed them into her mind when she discovered she could talk to them. She'd have gladly given anything to welcome them into her world. She likes to think, sometimes, that they can see through her eyes, or feel as she feels. Even just a little bit.
It almost startles her when Sunday speaks, but the small girl is quick to smile. "Oh, it's all right. I'm fine with quiet." Not that it's ever really quiet in her head anymore. But she doesn't mind, she'd want someone to talk to too if she were dead. "I do hope you feel better though." she says with the same gentle smile. Her voice is almost painfully earnest – Wrynn is gifted (or cursed) with a remarkable ability to care about everyone and everything. So very much the opposite of her mother.
It's not long before a mare comes to greet them, and little Wrynn watches her with gentle curiosity. When the mare extends her muzzle, she happens to extend it to Wrynn, and the little girl is thrilled to reach back and mirror her gentle greeting. The girl doesn't speak immediately, and Sunday eventually beats her to it, introducing for them both. Wrynn nods along.
Once Sunday is finished, Wrynn speaks up, her voice small and gentle. "Hi Wichita. It's nice to meet you." her smile is genuine. She is still very obviously young, her body petite even for a yearling, but there is a strange wisdom in her nonetheless. She's bay, but she will grey with time, and her eyes are a strange mood-ring rainbow, changing colors at their own whim. And with that she's quiet, letting Sunday take the lead, enjoying the tranquility and sunshine of the Gates and waiting to see how its denizen answers them.
wrynn