cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
It occurs to her about midway through the other mare’s reply that she is possibly the last horse who should be here dealing with this. Not that this has ever stopped her before of course. But it is made abundantly clear when her response to the other woman’s placement of blame is abrupt amusement rather than any other more appropriate emotion. Of course, she hadn’t had much interest in politics at the time either, but even she knows how clumsily Loess had handled things.
Fechin, upon realizing the implications of the offer, butts in eagerly, saving Brazen from saying something probably inappropriate. Her eager questions do make her laugh, a short burst filled with untempered amusement. “Now that’s a thought,” she quips, blue eyes bright behind the ivory mask. Lips twitching, she continues, “Flowers on Icicle Isle. I’d be impressed if Loess could conjure that.”
Gaze returning to the winged mare as her wry amusement fades slowly, she eyes her for a minute. Unlike her mother, the weight of her skepticism is clearly visible as she shifts restless limbs, not quite sure what to make of the offer. Finally she offers rather blandly, “I’ll let Neverwhere know, uh… who are you anyway?”
Brazen