This is definitely the beginning of some sort of fable about the perils of too much pride, of wandering too deeply into the woods on your own, of talking to the beast at the centre of the labyrinth instead of running the heck away from it. Pippa's mother spun all sorts of wild yarns to her older brothers when they were children about what would definitely happen to them if they were foolish enough to cross Sands Creek. The boys grew up heeding her words. (More or less.) But Pippa never knew her mother, and whatever wisdom she might have passed down, it got lost in translation when her father and brothers tried to share it instead.

So instead Pippa stands there, transfixed by the sight of this strange girl all on her own, and mechanically reaches out to take the horse's lead from her as it is offered out. (She catches a glimpse of that slit tongue, too, and cannot not stare.)

"Um," she begins smartly, then clears her throat and makes herself do the responsible thing, and looks to the horse. "That's--that's really good. Thanks," she blurts out quickly and looks back to what she can see of Roesia's hooded features, "for catching her, I'm really sorry for interrupting your, um--walk." All alone. In the middle of the deep, dark, haunted forest.