12-06-2017, 01:12 AM
The mare asks if Ichor is the one that knows all the names of the flowers in the fields. For this alone, the moth-mare could like her because of course, Ichor loves flowers because she is a moth and requires them for sustenance and some part of her appreciates their allure in petal and color and scent besides their hidden founts of nectar that fill her gut up. “I am,” she answers just as softly and with a bit more of a smile that has a certain pride and strength in it that she is known for something around here since Ichor isn’t much more than a pasture ornament that lives and feasts on the flowers around her.
Ivar distracts her with his touch - a touch that transmits a subtle command to her brain to relax that she is still not certain if it actually comes from him or if she just assumes it is that inner voice telling her to not be so agitated just because he expects her to be more sociable. Of course the way she fits against him momentarily is still rather new to her but somehow fast becoming familiar as his muzzle rests on her shoulder. Something in his touch just made everything else go away though she was still acutely aware of the freckled mare before them.
“Nice to meet you, Kindred.” Ichor is genuine in stating this as her brain moves on to the mention of pomegranates and if she knows where there might be some. She had not quite the kind of moth genetics that preferred fruit as flowers were more fanciful to her but that still didn’t meant that Ichor wasn’t innately educated enough about them to recognize that they originated from a shrub or small tree. “Punica granatum,” she murmurs, considering. She could locate some though despite the fact that her proboscis is not spiny enough to penetrate the skins to get the juice within and she’s too far above sucking the juice out of rotten ones on the ground like some moths do.
“I could find some I think,” she admits carefully because she is not entirely certain there are pomegranates in Loess but if one could find them, it would be her. But the freckled mare mentions an interest in learning about other flowers, and one in particular that makes you forget it’s scent every time you smell it which is not a problem that Ichor as not a normal horse is likely to have since she doesn’t stop and smell the roses so to speak. She’ll suck them dry of their nectar but that’s about it besides knowing their scientific and common names and if they are a source of food for one like herself. Kindred’s mention of this kind of flower though is intriguing enough to capture Ichor’s attention - “Could you describe this flower for me or is that all you know of it?” her interest is singular despite the warmth of Ivar at her side, and she has not forgotten his penchant for the pomegranates that she’ll have to track down. Half of her brain thinks she might already know where some are…