The anger and indignation were so thick in the air that Snow could almost smell them on the wind before she caught sight of anybody approaching the inn. And when she did look, she realized in some ways she could be looking at herself. Well. Except for the part where this was a white girl. But the part where she was torn up and torn away from everything and mad as hell, yeah, that Snow recognized. The part where they were of an age and covered in tokens from myriad fights--though Snow's own bruising and scars were hidden under overlarge clothing--yeah, that too.

There was a time not so long ago where she wouldn't have been even slightly that aware of what she could look like from the outside.

Now this was normally where Snow would make herself scarce and get herself back down to the stable. She didn't like dealing with new arrivals. Too often they needed her to be able to step carefully, something that reminded her either so much of displeasing her stepmother or so much of her inability to talk to people that she absolutely fucking hated it.

But somebody who was ready to punch her out just for being there? That was easy to understand. She could work with that.

She smoothed her hands over her two braids and headed down the path to meet the new girl. Snow wore a gun openly on her hip, but she made no move to draw or even touch it. It was only that she'd never had any success hiding Rose Red, and around here there was no point in hiding it, so she'd stopped bothering.