The call that tumbled through the valley was familiar, the sound a note to draw to mind her inadequacies but also the bleeding soul of her people; dark rimmed ears lifted from a deeply bay crown, the Lady having been half asleep alongside the curling tendrils of steam that rose and wafted out from the broiling surface of the hot springs, her luxuriously long and ebonite tail swishing about her hind legs with delicate smacks and clicks, the action more to rouse her lazy brain into some form of functioning. She snorts, her nose lowering and a shiver racing from her poll down to her dock and each gold dipped limb, the delightfully crisp air of spring working in time with her stretches and invigorating movements to quickly pull her from the clutches of reverie and back into the moment at hand.

Slender and graceful, a panther among women, she trots with broad steps across the tightly packed, partially frozen earth. The return of the sun had done much for her spirits, the rather superstitious woman having found that it's warming beams had been an omen for her to pick up her bruised and shattered ego and continue forth on the path to greatness. Though it's light had given her numerous headaches since it had returned to the heavens, she found she was rather grateful despite the gentle throbbing in her temples; never had she realized how deeply she had missed the sunlight glistening across the snow capped peaks, the gently swaying waters of the lake alight with diamonds in the high afternoon.

Her pace slows as the poisoner and his catch come into view, the small gathering of the herd about them not what draws her forward momentum to an abrupt halt, but rather the sight of what D'artagnan had brought home. Narrowly she avoids her jaw dropping to the floor, instead biting down hard on her tongue to swallow the cry of outrage she initially feels when faced with this strange sight. A cougar who has spotted her prey, one hoof delicately finds it's hold before the other, and thus it continues, the golden backed bitch slowly arriving into the gathered circle of faces. She catches Kelec's words as she draws within ear shot, but it is well after the closing words of the white horned, ash toned stranger accompanying the Reaper, and she lets her own figure ride in alongside Deimos's open flank on the wave of silence, taking a moment to observe those gathered, the longest and most in depth look given to D'art, golden gaze twinkling with curiosity as to what had made the good doctor decide to bring home such a... monstrosity.

But he was not a monster, she did not figure, even if what should have been a neck was replaced with a slender and grotesque log-like extension, leading to strange branches that ended in pronged, paw like objects. She figured they were sort of like paws, anyway, carrying much resemblance to the posts upon which Aramis stood but that the claws were flat and carried a similar appearance to numerous hooves on the ends of many, many legs. When she got to the red male's face, however, she found herself so perplexed by what and why this man was as he was. That the stranger had given it a name, albeit a beautiful sounding one, did little to placate her absolute confusion as to the origin of the beast.

And he had no horn!

His flat features made her uneasy, knowing from slender experiences with wild creatures that such faces could see more clearly than her kind, and also, as already mentioned, his brow was flat and unadorned. But his muzzle (she thought that strange, pointing thing was a muzzle, anyway, it had two holes and seemed to flex with the movements of his chest, ever so gently) gave her the opinion that this one, while he may see further and more clearly than she, could by no means smell as acutely. Another curious gaze is given to the male's unusual top hooves, the five points on the flat and almost square palms drawing to mind that perhaps, while he was indeed a freak of nature, he could be utilized to great advantage of her people.

"Lefiri, elf. I care not which. Surely he is strong," she mused aloud, "and surely, also, D'artagnan was thoughtful before bringing him here." She paused and let a slender giggle rupture the steady cadence of the air, her thoughtful face suddenly blooming into a sickeningly sweet and friendly expression to over-ride the hidden and bleak message of her words, exuberance flowing freely from her body as she turned her gaze about to look once more upon D'artagnan as her jab at the unwhole status of the satyr was let fly. It didn't seem pertinent to simply write off the strange beast the doctor had brought up to the mountain so quickly, not when she herself kept a "daughter" of sorts that was very much the product of treason, born on the very soil she was now essentially held prisoner on. To send the humanoid creature back out into the wilderness would make her seem hypocritical, especially in the case of Destry, and all who had been involved in the chaos that had bound them all together (for better or worse) knew that the Basin could not afford to loose out on any potential benefits that they could grasp at.

"I am the Lady Illynx," she said, sweeping her gaze back to the strange horse-like being and offering a gracious bob of her head in greeting, recovering courteous ground that, to no surprise, Deimos had deemed unnecessary. One could not berate the man for being sour, though; such a devil was the black stallion that Illynx felt quite nervous just sharing this closely in his air, and she knew that it was never high on his list to appease others with flattery (at least, she had never heard him attempt so) and, in all honesty, the very essence of the man made companionship with the stoic male almost like cuddling a thorn bush as far as Illynx could be concerned. "The Basin holds near fifty members, perhaps more, perhaps less," her lower lip protruded outwards suddenly in her signature mood changes, the beaming laughter that had seemed to swallow her face suddenly extinguished in an expression of sour admission, "recently we had some... events come to pass. I am ashamed to say I do not know precisely how many reside upon the mountain anymore than I know how many hairs are upon good D'artagnan's head."

A look of consolation is spared the doctor as she mentions the "events" at hand, knowing full and well that none upon the mountain wore the weight of their loss as heavily as he. His whole family, it would seem, had been the brunt of the Edge and Throat's twisted games, and it saddened Illynx, who knew all to well the burdens of being alone, that any of her herd were forced to be separate from those they held close to their heart. It was not to say that she would risk her own skin to save the foals and Kou, that was to be sure - but there would certainly be attempts to save them from the horrendous life of unity and hybrid hugging that was to be found in the Edge.

All of these things required time, which Illynx found more and more to be on everyone's side but their own.