For as much bantering on about the trouble of the job she’d been given by Psyche, she was quite proud of her new title and the power that came with it; she hadn’t fully accepted the responsibility yet, though she struggled with the concept. It was partly why she was out here in the rain – that and the damnable Deimos.

He graces her with his name, which is replayed several times in her head. She could have guessed soldier; he’d be a waste in any other vocation, truly, what with those natural lines and all that muscle. She herself has risen from such a rank, a slow climb in the hierarchy that took an unnatural leap during a time when she was needed. That the friend who had built her the ladder was no longer around was yet another hole that seeped openly in her heart.

That she had no other friends to discuss it with was perhaps the deepest wound of all.

She is not empty, simply broken; and no fractured jar ever held much of anything.

Her smile is gleaming and appreciative as he makes note of both the feathered creature’s name and interest in her. Arching her neck just a little bit more, she tilts her gaze to better look at the young griffon pressed against his body, absorbing the warmth of his muscles. At one point in her life, not so long ago, really, she had disdained the idea of splitting her soul to give a part to another creature that may or may not be worthy of her.

She learned, rather quickly, that a companion could be far more devastating than the horse it rode in on, during the invasion that had earned her a place on the glacial throne of the mountain. The fact that this creature, small as it might be, is regal and one designated for her people, in particular, is especially warming. If she was to choose an animal to be with her for the rest of her life, she would have such a beast.

"She is also quite fair. Fate has treated the pair of you kindly, so striking your company for the rest of life's reach," muses the mare of the soft grey creature and her bonded stag, the warmth of her grin meeting her eyes despite the chill coating her heart. Her ego purrs under the amber glow of the beast’s eyes, drawing strength, as she always did, from the awe she could inspire in others with her mere presence.

The most dangerous thing in the world is a woman who is both beautiful and capable of thought. Irelyn provided her with proof of the first requirement; she would see if she could convince Torleik of her abilities in the field of conversation next.

As the stallion playfully tossed her own words back into her face, her lips formed a false and pouting frown, one that she hoped would transpose the same sort of message that the inspiring joke had carried into her expression. Despite her attempts to remain humorous, the man prodded at things that really did make her wish to frown, and the additional realism that was given to her fictional grimace would have made her rupture with laughter had she only been in a better mood.

One thing that Illynx has not been, and never will be, is simple.

Begin subject one.

"He’s an oaf," she replies quickly, crown rising slightly and looking out over the rainy valley indignantly, "surely I don’t appear much better after what has transpired during that meeting." Indeed, she didn’t. Not only had she been blissfully unaware of what her minions had been doing behind her back, she had also succeeded in coming off like a perfectly dimwitted sixteen year old girl caught sneaking out the window.

Your Lady's ass hanging out of her miniskirt is not something that the whole herd needs to see.

How deeply she feared for her own position in the minds of her herd was the least of her worries, however. That she could not manage to get the new Lord to even talk to her was the most dismal fact of all that plagued her over taxed mind, and she could press figurative fingers into her temple and rub until her vision turned black over it. Or, she could do as she was doing now, and attempting to move forward without taking out too much of her displeasure on the man.

How very hard a task this has been.

"At least I can talk, hold a conversation," waspishly hums the woman, mostly streaming thoughts aloud at this point and not entirely sure why she is being so open with the mostly strange man, "I came to him in hopes of healing some of that disaster, and rather than hearing me or attempting to ease my concerns he strode off into the shadows like some glorified sociopath."

So dismal was her pouting at this point, that I am laughing.

Turning her gaze to look fully at the stallion who has walked in on an unopened can of female emotions and ever so delicately popped! the lid of, smiling most sorrowfully in apology before she returns her sights to the lake and the rain rippling its surface. "The Lady Psyche was my best friend," flatly come her words, the true reason for why she is so disgruntled with the former General and all his social inabilities, "and Deimos has always been a distant figure, someone I would never have chosen to be alongside. Perhaps this is the source of much of my… isolation."

She smiles warmly as she can manage as she turns back to Torleik, re-positioning her body so as to more fully view him now that she has aired out far too much of her dirty laundry before him. There is sad laughter falling from her lips, laughter that is aimed at her self and all the others who seek to always be alone on this mountain. "I am just now learning that I am not any good at being on my own," she admits, and her eyes are smiling but for the dark shades of sorrow that hide behind the glitter she has covered it with.