Phoenix Maplewood butterfly in the storm

She almost appreciated the openness of what laid at her paws now – something about the ivory woman stirred an ease in the yearling, and with a softening of her mint eyes, the poised girl dipped her muzzle even further in humble gratitude. “Thank you,” she spoke, her tone soft, and yet the tilt of her muzzle revealed her own quizzical nature. “Can I explore my options? Or will you need an answer now?” The question was soft – a hope that the woman would not take her for lazy, or in avoidance.
 
She simply wanted to explore her options, if she was able to. “Are there healers here?”