Such a pained expression the other seems to wear. As though she is both here and not here, all at the very same time. The moments pass, filled with side long glances, the buttermilk mare nursing her child in silence. A long held chocolate glare greets the silver black, as she wonders what the next words might be that slip her maw.
She repeats words, though her speech is still few and far between. Mayhaps, she don't even know how to talk that well the possibility presents itself to Wichita's conscious. Though she did not think her unintelligent, the other had been through a rough time, and Wichita didn't know her story. Some might judge Wichita herself, her way with words being long drawls. Words that were not part of most proper speech.
At last the newcomer gives her name. 'Reuen' The pastel nods in understanding and exchanges the name for her own, "My name is Wichita, it's nice to meet ya." She smiles, ivories displayed in an entirely genuine manner. Wichita had an unrelenting trust for other mares, feeling an instilled since of camaraderie, one that her mother had imparted to her long ago. What is perhaps a bit unsettling are the words to follow, 'Reuen, all is Reuen,' she didn't understand what that meant. It sounded foreboding, unwelcome in the grasses, the clover, the new life of spring. She dismissed it for the time, auds flicking as each sporadic statement came. Fragments of a puzzle that needed to be put together, best as one could with pieces still missing.
The red flows in lines down her disturbed carriage, rivers of pain creating a visible map of her injuries. She wants to stay, just here. Wichita tilts her head just so."Yes, all right. You can stay here,"a promise cemented into existence by its mere vocalization. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness, for both her child, and the lost soul. "Come, we'll have a drink in the creek. I can help you rinse off too, we need to clean those wounds or they'll fester."She nudges her foal away from her belly, urging the child in the direction their short walk would be. Her neck turns, lavender and blue locks spilling past her breast. A glance back.
"Come Reuen."
