Her smile in the face of the strange assembly, particularly the painted girl, as they made mention of their desires for peace, grew all the more broad and giddy with each passing moment; upon remembering the way the girl had shouted and cried for all the fighting to simply stop that day on the frozen creek, not a dainty hoof print made in the comfort or protection of the buckskin stallion that had defended her, Illynx could understand the simple and rather useless message that this stunningly beautiful glass object was supposed to convey.

That she’d gotten so many men to come with her almost lulled Illynx into a comfortable appreciation of the black and white damsel. Almost… it was quite a shame that the mare had made a scorpion rather than a horn for herself as a gift. She and all her companions were handsome to look upon but for the ugly emptiness of their brows and the ones dirty, dusty wings. That they were of the Edge could have been forgotten, truly, just as it was with any of them but for Mirage or Smoke – if only they had the right bits attached to their heads.

It was a shame. Kahlua would have been truly beautiful if she’d been born to the right species; again, they all might have been, and it is almost sad to Illynx for a fleeting moment that one day, she might have to kill any of them in her quest to rule a world of only horns. It is fleeting because her mind replaces the unpleasant thought with the more delightful imagery of their bodies splayed against the rocks at the foot of the World’s Edge, distorted and bent in the suddenness of their impact, centermost in an elegant artwork of burgundy on stone. A nod and cryptically genuine smile is given in reply to her and the other stallion’s promise that it is simply a gift; a good thing… Illynx had little she desired to part with in exchange other than giving them the fastest ride down the mountain side she could think of.

”So, it does nothing…” mused a familiar voice, the whirs and the clicks of his mechanical wolf having alerted Illynx to his arrival moments before he chose to comment on the package that the quartet of the mists had brought to their doorstep. It gave sincerity to her smile, the gruff and demeaning tones of the mad engineer, and she briefly turned her gaze to witness the spectacle of the metal shards rising from the earth and forming into a metal scorpion, much the same as Ulrik’s own robotic wolf though it’s noise was far more heinous than even the gleaming canine could boast.

Her reaction was very similar to that of the only other woman present: the thing was shiny and was suddenly living. It had her attention most immediately – not to mention, Ulrik had arrived out of no where with an created an unnecessary gift to give; it would be incredibly sociable of her to indulge in its clever mechanisms, at least for a while, and her smile is amused and pretty on her delicate features as she watches it scuttle forwards towards the gift-bringers.

Of course, her mind is not so easily amused as to be vapidly observing it’s movements and intricacies; she herself wonders if the mad machinist has tweaked with it’s senses in some way as to be able to control it. As far as she knew, his own robotic companion followed only Ulrik’s whims – it would be interesting to know what this little fellow might see.

She is hopeful and beaming when the woman asks if it is for her, obviously pleased with the creation, and her soldiers have no rebuttal to taking it immediately other than the surly ebony stag. His question is simple though, one Ulrik should be clever enough to answer on his own; and it is to him that she looks for the coming reply.