The Threshold, a place of beginnings, a forest that the golden mare was seen in often, due to her years in the ranking position of corporal and the task of gathering new members that had been granted to her (mostly because of their friendship, but also because she was good at it) by her dearest Psyche. Things had evolved since then; no longer was Illynx as narrow minded or as carefree, an interesting combination in the woman who once wore glass armor and threw rocks at rubber walls.

She still had her glass armor, to be sure; she just no longer kept her bucket of rocks on hand.

Slipping through the myriad paths, she listens to the trees and the whispers of voices that she can hear. Avoiding the groups that seem to already have bundled tightly, she continues forward and search of a suitable candidate; whoever it is must have a horn, or in the case of Cin, the tiger, a physical prowess that earns them her attentions. Surprisingly, even with her narrow restrictions on what was suitable to return to the Basin with, she usually came upon at least one or two who met all of her requirements.

She sees the pair before she approaches, in a clearing that she believes to have met someone else in. Who? she ponders to herself momentarily before stepping out into the moonlight, not waiting as the young horse did before appearing – not that she had been here to see such things, anyway. She arrives on the tail end of Abishia’s words, a smile soft and supple on her lips even as snakes brawl inside her mouth for a chance to bite at her flesh.

This is not the place for such violence, she reminds her subconscious, here is not where we hunt for such things.

"Salutations," she calls out to the pair, though more so to the respectable unicorn among their numbers. Despite how kind she might have been to the younger of two has she worn the right things on her head, she still manages a scant smile in her direction; she is pretty, after all, and had nature been more kind and her parents not hated her so deeply, she’d be perfectly whole. Her face is, overall, a welcoming mask of false joviality aimed towards both in the clearing – though the show stands to respect only one of their number. "I am open for assistance as well. Lady Illynx, of the Aurora Basin," she nods in greeting to the unicorn mare first, then tilts a cordial bob in the direction of the mutant.

I’m getting this… nice thing down quite well, she humorously muses.

Illynx