She doesn't recognize him, doesn't recognize his scent, doesn't recognize his demeanor. Nobody so unusual has crossed Popinjay's path since she has arrived in Beqanna, and though she is wary, she is curious. Her hooves itch, and she wants to close the distance between herself and the strange stallion, but rare caution holds her back. When he speaks, her pinned ears flick forward, and at the same time catch the sound of the chestnut mare dreaming her way through the Taigan woodland.
Her intense study of him is broken and the yearling filly turns away to meet the blue-eyed gaze of... Lolly? The little bay has made no real attempt to come to know this new member of Taiga, she only knows that Wolfbane brought her home, and that the mare drifts away many nights, only to return come dawn. Although each day brings her a little closer to adulthood, Popinjay has had very little to do with them, keeping mostly to her contemporaries in the herd, Owin and Celina, and so she is uncertain how Lilly... Linny - no, what is her name? - will react to finding them here, alone.
She knows how others would react. She has been scolded for her impetuousness before, and learned very little for it.
Very little, indeed. She barely acknowledges the other mare's greeting, the very corners of her lips quirking into the slightest crooked grin. The minute that the silver stallion takes his eyes off her, she is moving, and as he studies the chestnut for a moment, then drifts away into the tree-tops, she is nearly on top of him, small head low and weaving side-to-side as though trying to push him out from the bushes and into the small clearing. Doomed to failure, her attempt at flushing him out serves mostly to bring her very close, so that there is no question about her hearing his query.
"Oh, oh, oh, I've counted lots of trees! There's at least four-hundred-and-thirty-seven trees. I think. Maybe it was four-hundred-and-thirty-eight-or-maybe-nine? How many have you counted? It gets awful hard to keep track..." A whirlwind of words flies from her lips as she attempts to draw broadside to him, near-black eyes glinting brightly as the sun peers through the canopy above, "Lillolly, Lindy-Ann, have you counted the trees?"
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
@[Thales] @[lilliana]
