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"My..."

If she had hands, Modera would be rubbing them against her temples right about now. However, as she had no hands, or wings, or tentacles, or anything which might possibly function as hands, she was left with few alternatives to sooth her pounding headache. She couldn't remember when the last time she'd had a clear head had been; this headache had been her constant companion for weeks now.

Of course, she knew at least one thing she could do to relieve the tension: stop using her horn. It was Unicorn 101 that rest was essential during long bouts of healing, and she was sure that the weeks she had been at this were pushing her to the point of pain. But how could she justify resting when there were so many Soquili in need of a unicorn's aid?

Modera was no fighter, and never aspired to be one. When the Kalona herd had come, she hadn't dreamed of joining the ranks of Kawani Soquili fighting the Kalona back. However, she also couldn't abandon those Soquili who were sacrificing everything. The Kalona represented what she most loathed: excesses. As an ambassador of the Virtue of Temperance, she had a duty to preserve and share the message of moderation in all things, and the Kalonas' 'take no prisoners and give no quarter' message was a contradiction to that in every way possible.

So she had committed to doing her bit via peaceful methods, devoting herself and her horn to healing the wounded. Was a headache that much of a price to pay in exchange?

Though she had to admit, there was an irony in pushing herself to the point of exhaustion. "Where is your moderation now," she murmured.

At least an end was in sight. The rumor was floating that the Kalona were withdrawing, that the battles might soon be a thing of the past. Wouldn't that just be marvelous?

Her headache must be worse than she'd imagined; either that, or she'd drifted off to sleep without realizing it. What other explanation could there be for such an apparation as this? She'd seen all sorts of Soquili in her time; unicorns, winds, flutters, regulars, and Kalona; she'd even seen the little half-sized Soquili called Usdia. But never before had she seen a...Soquili? Such as this one. Small like an Usdia, but with huge ears like a hare, anters like a deer, tusks like the nastiest of Kalona, and some kind of vessel on top of its head. Never mind the strange song, the sight itself was enough to stagger her.

So at first, her reaction was simply to stare blankly at the little mare and try to make some sense out of it. But when after a few long moments the little mare was still there, still looking the same, she managed to choke out a somewhat incredulous, "Pardon me, but what are you, exactly? I don't mean to be rude, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage." The song, they could address later!

Modera didn't know whether she ought to be confused, insulted, aggreived, amused, or just take it all as a sign she out to take a nap. The little mare had an accent the like of which she'd never heard before, and some of what she was saying made no sense. What, for example, was a lance? And what did she mean by saying Modera could use some revelry. What was revelry?

However, as strange as this encounter was, Modera's head was still aching and she was feeling vastly overwhelmed. Whether the little mare was as peculiar as Modera thought or it was her own imagination 'shaking things up' for her, she really could use a break. So why not spend it in the company of someone as colorful as...Bob?

"I do believe I'll take you up on that offer...Bob. It's certainly true that I could use a break, and the stream sounds pleasant. Does your trip there have anything to do with your...unique headgear?" With her horn, she gestured courteously for the small mare to lead the way, tacking her own belated introduction. "My name is Modera."

So the little mare intended to carry water in an open-topped vessel on top of her head. Given everything else peculiar about her, Modera supposed she really shouldn't be surprised by that fact, but surprised she was and surprised she remained. "You're a rather inventive mare, Bob." She only stumbled over the name for a second that time; it still seemed an odd name, but by all appearances she was an odd mare, so it was probably appropriate. Regardless, Modera was trying to just roll with it. There had been too much gloom lately, to the point that gloom seemed normal. What she needed right now was a little oddness.

She followed along after Bob, doing her best to rein in her stride so as to not overtake her companion. After all, Bob was the one who knew where they were going, not Modera. "I'm afraid I have no storage containers of any sort. Honestly, if I ever need to transport multiple fruits I try to just skewer them on my horn." She didn't add that that was a rare occassion indeed, because the juice tended to drip down into her face and getting them off later was a major undertaking! "Though I'd be happy to carry something, if you have any sort of carryall along. I don't want to use up your resources when you're already being so socialble."