Her sneer is self satisfied and plastic as sin across her features in response to the easy way that this one’s will bends beneath the weight of a crown pressing its gleaming eyes into her. It never grows old, the study of the way an ego wilts before her or rises with rancor against her superiority, fangs flashing, and that this one wilts allows her to slip into a more comfortable field of conversation, one that does not involve a quick ousting from the borders of her home. That she is new to this land, unwise to the inner workings of its boundaries, and that she wears a horn have drawn the wicked queen’s interests in her to quick a mighty threshold, golden eyes sparkling in her face as she nods in concession to the apology, never truly all that offended to begin with.

She was more than willing to prove the worth of her name, insolence repaid with bloody parts.

The sound of hooves approaching draws all conversationalist’s eyes towards the source, a smile alighting on the mare’s features as she comes to recognize a prize that she had found wandering the Threshold just before the wraiths had begun their assault. That the mare escaped the predicament they had both found themselves in unscathed and had also seemed to find a companion (no matter how small or… scraggly he might be) along the way. A darkened tint overtakes her eyes for but a second as the mare calls her by a shortened version of her name, dislike of the lack of respect discarded as quickly as it arrives.

Perhaps it is a good thing, to be called by pet names. Perhaps it means that the silver mare likes her, at least a little bit.

Bemusedly smiling at the awkward introduction and subsequent flight of the hound, she takes in the words of the Engineer in silence, eyes moving from figure to figure as the words slip by her ears.

”As Ulrik says,” she nods in agreement, ”the things we got to examine briefly in our last time together are moving along well. The herd prospers and the land is healthy, despite the snow; Lord Time protected our home well from the onslaught of the monsters.” Realizing that none of the members in the conversation truly knew one another, she laughs and directs her eyes to the wild looking stag, nodding towards him to introduce all parties involved. ”He’s Ulrik, of course,” she glances to the white mare, more laughter tinkling from her lips, ”we never got your name, did we? But this is Tangere, a healer of the Basin. I do not know if you and Ulrik know each other already.” She finishes her words with her eyes on the grey and white mare, a faint smile still loitering from the ghost of her giggling.

@[Sheba]