She savored the moments in which he swallowed her being, the focal point of a mortal mind and the ambrosia of her entire existence; as often as she claimed to reside outside the confines of other’s opinions of her, the mare was very indebted to those who spared her their company and focus.

At least, her ego was.

Unfortunately, such primal urges rarely take heed of things that they owe their existence to, and so she is oblivious to the purring of her soul as his eyes gently stroke her figure, as his mind replays the sound of her name in his head. If fate would let her, the world would know her name and her face; the world would bend its knee to worship her, Queen of the Mortals, second only to the Gods and Goddess who ruled the realm with their iron grace.

Though she was currently in an emotional state far beyond the reaches of such dreams, it still lingered in her heart. She would die desiring more than she held, or could ever hold. Illynx was incredibly simple in such areas – what she would do when she had it all, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted it more deeply than anything she had ever lusted for in her short life. Perhaps this was why the failing of her first leadership worthy ventures had left her in such a dismal state, dwelling so heavily on the shadows that flickered about the golden apples of her life.

The floral etched stag explains that he is one of the few who travels so, and she finds a kinship between their souls in this. But for the weight of her crown and the responsibility she felt in regards to the Plague and their mountain base, she would move tirelessly about the world, seeing and learning all that could be had. If she had never met Psyche, she would not be here – and she knows this. In some ways, this stallion was a better person than she was. He remained in Helovia, true to his family, while a year ago, she had left even Loorien behind her in travels far outside the borders.

It had taught her much of herself, and given her peace with much that had come to pass in her life beforehand; but it had left her with an unsettling feeling that she had abandoned something important. In the aftermath of all the turmoil in the political aspects of the herd, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might have helped Psyche hold her rank for longer if only she had never left.

It was water under the bridge; she had no bucket or dam to hold it back.

Why must it press against her soul so hard?

"As it should be," she says perhaps too sharply, "they provide you sustenance and a place to rest when you are weary of wandering." Perhaps the man is right; confines are oppressive, what with the whole world out there. But having been born in Helovia, she has already seen all that the land can offer her. She finds that even the long journeys to the far end of the continent do not bring her pleasure as they used to.

This man cannot understand such things. She will not bother attempting to explain much beyond her initial admission that she felt no such desire any longer; the only excitement she had left was the final journey of death, whatever crooked bends her life would take from this point forward.

There was nothing new to be discovered beyond lessons she had not been blessed with.

"I was born here, in Helovia. I have seen her from top to bottom," she smiles, though her heart aches at the thought that she has lived long enough to steal away the allure of the unknown. Perhaps there will be more things discovered, places that she may venture and come to know – but only the future can bring such things, surely not this stallion or his small ventures. "I am much older than you, though. The drive of youth keeps one ever wandering."

Then what keeps me going? she thinks, unable to find the answer.

Perhaps the responsibilities of being old.