The Lady was back here, at last, too long since her last venture southward and into the place of gathering old friends and new faces. She rather enjoyed the task of discovering wandering souls, the lost kings and queens of the earth, guiding them home to where they might flourish among their peers rather than lose their gleam wadding among filth. Her own crown is held high, glinting and golden, an extra air of pride added to each flowing step for the garments she has discovered just a day prior; unsure how the armor had come to rest so peacefully in the damp stone cave, she was certainly thankful that it hadn’t been left for too long. The cloth was still whole, and viable, the platinum gleaming and inlaid with the prettiest display of her mountain.

It is pointless, by now, to say that she is vain, and selfish.

A familiar voice tugs her into a slight clearing, discovering a stallion with a proud crown rising from his brow being lured into a pointless conversation by the white and blue mare that had helped she and Arah clear the pool in the far south of blights. Her mouth is a grimace of distaste for this second encounter with the woman, not as restrained by the promise of presents for her good behavior as she had been before, and not soon to forget the way that the woman had shouted and carried on while the gilded Lady had been trying to work.

It was her fault she’d been covered in sludge, ruining her concentration with all that needless yelling. That theory is written all across the golden wench’s figure as she dances in and comes to a halt amidst the little gathering, a sweet smile flashing across her pretty face that is reserved for the male of the company alone, quickly slipping from her lips whenever she looks upon the pegasus.

Hidden Falls, hm? she thinks of the tail of the conversation she has walked in on, wondering just what the hell this Hidden Falls was. No one had ever told her of a herd called such a thing. The Foothills, perhaps? What a curious turn of phrasing to use to describe a place that had existed well before this idiot of a turkey had hatched out of her egg.

"Salutations, fine sir," she states once the white fool has ceased her words, a coating of figurative sugar layered upon her smiling face, "I am the Lady Illynx, of the Aurora Basin to the north. I, too, extend an offer to accompany me to the mountains, to company far more suited to such a handsome fellow as yourself." That she is lying is something no one around her will ever tell; intriguing the stallion may be, but handsome he is not to the woman who much prefers to be the most unique and splendid item to look upon in any given situation.

She’s played this game enough to know that commentary based on the… unusual way in which he has styled his mane is not a good way to get him to fall for her charms and submit to her desires to add another name onto the list of bodies between her and the enemy. But she is a talented mynx, the Gilded Blade, her words fall effortlessly and as if she had never spoken a more truthful complement than that which she shares with the strange white unicorn, given a better light by the genuine intrigue that pierces her heart as to why he has decided on such an appearance.

There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.