Andarin: The Mountains: lycoris;

"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god."
- Sir Francis Bacon
She feels no compulsion to call to the animals, to surround herself in their chatter and charms. It is as if the earth in her is squandered, useless and she recognizes the fluid currents that surround themselves around her fellow mare, the mane and tail of which seem steeped in air, stirring and blowing and about as restless as Michabou feels. That is why the earth in her sleeps; she can feel it but it is sluggish and unresponsive and she has little reason to make use of it now, and in that, there was a certain freedom to feel her element overpowered by the presence of the mare next to her, that leaned in close with an expression of concern on her face.

Her muzzle meets the proffered muzzle and she trades a breath or two even, with Lycoris before she pulls her mouth back to answer her. She smiles and shakes her head in assent, “I am fine - just remembering, that’s all. I seem to do a lot of that at the moment.” she reaches back out towards the mare to nuzzle her shoulder in a show of affection. How could she remain somber and sorrowing in such sweet company as this? “It was nothing said that caused it. Merely a memory and that’s gone now.” she assures her, or assures herself - Michabou cannot be sure which it is, but thinks that it might be a bit of both - she’ll take what assurance she can, even if she creates it herself or tries hard to believe in it.