At first, she is not aware of the bizarre reptile who follows him- the newcomer's companion- rather, Confutatis absorbs herself in making studious and droll notes, which Mongrel regards with the greatest of contempt. It was a stallion, she determined, with her gaze flicking downwards (not at all slyly) towards his haunches, but she could have said that anyways: for he bore himself with the regal posture of royalty, an imposing line cut and shaped to his dark shoulders. The darkness of his coat is consumed by scars, thick gray tissue which has swallowed the ebon of his coat; and most strange of all, they are thickest on his withers and shoulders. Head tips eerily in mild curiosity-

And then she sees a dragon!
Lady Death jerks back, tension humming in the taut lines of shoulder and hip, lips peeling back in a half-snarl at the surprise he had dealt unwittingly to her. Of course, she had heard of dragons, yes, but she had not seen them before, not in all of her arduous travels. There was something altogether more shocking about seeing emerald scale and flame-tipped tail than she had expected. Thus, naturally, she is full of greed and jealousy, for him having a drakon at his hooves.

At her shifting hooves, Mongrel silently growls in protest, the rumble of his discontent reverberating through the rocky abysses and jagged landscape of her mountainous mind. Full of spite at how easily he was forgotten, despite having suckled off his companion's own blood and damned flesh, he lingers over the thought of unleashing the illusions he holds command over as Inari kin. He weaves it swiftly, a tapestry of death and gore and most of all, the shattering of dragons, holds it at the tangled edges of his oceanic mind, preparing to unleash it upon this horrid dragon- and then it fades, slithering away at sound of interruption.

They are distracted from that glittering green by the sound of his sonorous voice, reminiscent of thundering avalanches and crashing rock. They are silent, thinking of witty replies and clever metaphors in a matter of seconds... before they settle on the truth, which they do not share freely. "I would not allow any landless bastard to mount the daughter of Oblivion, preacher of death and destruction." Confutatis answers, an edge of a snarl creeping into her cracked tones. A long, slippery rope of acidic drool drips from her mouth, splattering the earth and giving a pleasant sizzle.

Interrupted they are, and Confutatis' ears pin in contempt, a sneer curling her lips at sight of the draft, so quick to crush and kill; and proffers her snarl of unwelcome. "Fool! The world is made of those who seize power and those who are content to wallow at the feet of the stronger!" Yet she is cut short by Tyradon, who offers name and demands answer. Nostrils flare in exasperation, and Mongrel's teeth snick together as he snaps his jaws threateningly (despite his most diminutive size.) Fucking interlopers. "Darkness." Lady Death answers, brows shifting low over her dual-colored eyes. "One that is not kind even to the likes of us," she adds slyly, a hint of simper in her tone.

"Follow me for safety."