March On

A sudden, if soft, grunt of pain tore Gwenevere from her thoughts, and the woman's head swiveled to observe the paler female who'd come upon her unexpectedly. Well, that was careless of her wasn't it? Caught napping, so to speak. A fine lead warrior she was. A faintly self-deprecating smile crossed her muzzle at the thought.

"Hello," she called out in a friendly tone, politely raising herself into a sitting position. "Are you all right?" The white female, who Gwen could now see bore coal-black stockings, wasn't anyone she knew. She was of an age with Gwen herself, so it was unlikely to be some previously unknown relative nor even a member of the vaguely-remembered Serecia, so it was little wonder she didn't know her. Still, perhaps she knew what had become of Fiori, unless she herself were a stranger to the lands here as well.