Lion Head Mesa seventieth

a married pair in spring. what comes after writes itself.
with a deep draw of breath, racharra's chest puffed and so did the mane that had grown. it bristled before settling as she spoke once again. 

of course. she didn't know the intricacies but it was enough for racharra to understand. her only hope was that her family-to-be would not be torn, split perfectly in the middle with horrifying precision — like hers. and if, if, it was then may her children be as fortunate as her.

next, the word travel pricked racharra's ears. it was mostly the opportunity to learn more, to meet more, that enticed her. she nodded, then. i will accompany you, then. thank you. a smile curled her lips for the first time in the conversation — small yet poised like she had trained. 
foreign men would be intriguing. what would her type be, she wondered. in times like these, she sorely missed her easy conversations with miho. although she was the eldest, her younger sister was always the more social of the pair. she could've been a great hand by now.
shall i prepare anything? when will we set out?