He’d drifted away after her query, a promising motion that raised her ears to his movements and her anxiously quivering gaze upon the subtle changes in his features as the thoughts washed through him. She hoped, as she watched him ponder his reply, that he would supply her the answers she needed, the ones that would tell her the path to take as a leader that would earn her the love of her herd, even if she could not yet return their affections.

But he misunderstood her.

She barely refrains from frowning in response, though it is quickly reversed into a quirky smile that finds she rather likes this conversation, as well. Most soldiers were men after all.

She finds herself withdrawn as soon as he mentions his distaste for darkness, the bitch herself quite fond of letting loose the beast that snarled and scratched within herself and howled at the blank, moonless sky. She would not want such a man as to cage himself, that is to be sure. Her lover will be free and wild as the storm, his vengeance a white hot streak of light and his word the solemn command of the thunder, and his hooves will ever drip red with the blood of the weak and unworthy.

Even as upset as she is, she knows Ciceron does not need to know this. She is playing a game here, after all – and as far as the stone and flower stag is concerned, she is only sad and lonesome Illynx, a woman who stares across the sea as if she wishes to drown in its arms rather than look at a home she cannot have with yet another at her back.

He regains her attention as soon as he speaks of one’s ability to think independently. This she can do, and she does it well – and as young as she is, the mare is only truly beginning to understand just how deep into the wicked well she can slip, how deep and high the walls she has guarded herself with are.

As she had come to expect after asking questions with philosophical answers, it was returned to her, drawing her into a different focus of thought. Her mouth becomes a soft frown as she ponders it, not sure entirely what it is she wants either; she knows she desires someone strong, and clever, but what beyond that? The mare is far too vain to inspect others so closely, and has never truly considered the idea of a relationship past her friendship with the Empress.

"My Lord is a man of ice and stone, his heart a ball of flame so intense that he is liable to rupture at any moment," she is watching the sea again, but her eyes are not so sad as she paints the aura of her desires with sweetly feminine words, "none stand in his path. He does not have to enforce this. His very presence inspires their respect and obedience, for his strength is outweighed only by his wit." She pauses, looking back at the silver bloomed stallion with a soft mistiness in her eyes that is quite unusual to behold for those who know her well enough. "But… most importantly. He will never leave me to be alone."

Like Psyche, she mourns, a glistening bead rising in the corner of her eye despite her battle to restrain it. Quickly, she looks back out over the water, biting her tongue savagely as she does so to pin the emotional agony under the physical pangs of the new bruise and bleeding taste buds.

"But you misunderstood my question," she corrects for her own benefit, the quick change of subjects dropping the ball back into her court and allowing her to compose herself once more, "I was asking of a leader, like your Apollo." When her eyes return to the stallion, they are free of any hint of the sadness that had engulfed them before but for the same heavy shadow that loitered despite her attempts to chase it.