She considered the Hive-thing, no, Howler's words for a while. It wasn't clear if she was truly considering it or just languishing in the momentary silence between their words. Perhaps some strange mix of the two. A sniffle, and then a tear of black oil dripped from her nose as well as she lifted her head from the sand. "Change...it?" She did not know she could change that which she never had.

A gurgling, mumbling sound came from the back of her throat, almost a faint whine. Something akin to despair crossed through the mash of matter that was her brain. A short toss back of her head, scattering oil around them, and she mumbled, "I do not...know. What....I would nameee...." A sob tore through her chest again. "What....would youuuuu....call meee...."

It had come to her right when Howler was speaking of it, the possibility of change. If she didn't like something, could she change it?

She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to change so many things. The dark shroud that ever blanketed her senses, the trail of inky black that followed her wherever she walk, the desecrated ground that spread from her when she tried to rest...

That was her magic, she knew deep down. The consequences of it. But then, just as hope began to blossom, it crumbled. She could change many things, but not that. Not the one thing she would truly want to change. Her head fell back against the ground, another moan gurgling up from her chest. "Ohhhh....that is....sad." She sniffed. "I....would want....to change that..."

It wasn't a devastating discovery, it didn't crumble her completely, the hope had only existed for a moment, so the sadness that overtook her was short and bitter. But a name...oh a name. Would she be more of a thing with a name? More then simply a wandering stain?

Something like a soft snort made its way - she was an oddly vocal creature, now that she was actually having a conversation. "Poth...os? Ros...ary? What...are thoseee..."

Maybe she would have laughed if she was capable of laughing. She did not think she was. It did not matter if she used her magic or not, it used her. She was not the willing participant. It trailed after her like a dark cloud, infected her every step. A deep breath was taken, wet from the oil lining her throat, and when the exhale came, a bit of black dribbled out into the sand.

"I...don't....but it...follows me..." One very unhorse-like foot curled into the sand that was slowly being stained black by her continued presence upon it. But she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to continue speaking it into existence. It was simply a fact for her and to dwell on it was as pointless as dwelling on the nature of sadness.

She mulled over the names offered. She did not know why he had chosen plants. She was not a plant. She did not know how to grow plants. She didn't particularly like plants. Not even for eating. But if he liked the names, then she did too - they were pretty. And it made her think for a moment, an activity she did not normally participate in. Truly, plants didn't have to worry about things. That would be nice.

But he did not give her a name, but offered choices. Did she...have to choose one? There was a moment in which she went quiet, tossing each of them in her head and muttering them under her breath. And then she mumbled out, "Ro...sary....I like....Rosary." It was much better then Pickles. She paused, and then whispered, "Thank you."

The grin Howler offered did two things for the horse - the first, caused a tension. It looked like a snarl. Showing teeth. The beast-instinct in her took it as a threat and her body seemed to freeze for a moment, as if in fear. But no, not in fear, it was preparing itself to fight.

But it took a second for the second thing to override it. A weird emotion that felt like light in her bones. Because she had made someone smile. She recognized it for what it was, even if she had never seen one properly before. She did not know how to name the emotion that came with it, but she liked to think that it was just a hint of happiness. Impossible though it was.

She did not smile back, she did not think she could, but the lack of moans or tears said more then enough.

But it was too good to last. Rosary was a creature doomed to see the worst in all. So when Howler suggested moving, mentioned being stuck, that small bead of happiness was instantly swallowed by loathing. They wanted to move. She was holding them here. If she was not here, they would be more comfortable, happier, not having to worry about some depressing, sobbing, ever-anguished valkhound that didn't have a name.

A soft sob welled up again and a sigh followed soon after. "I...will try..." she cried softly. "But you should goooo....I am...no good...."