Not much attention to the idiot with the dragon was paid after Roland forgave her the incident, the Lady turning her focus to the leaders of the herd they had come to visit and forsaking all other words that didn’t pertain to her mission. Surely, it was satisfying to see an inept equine berated by her superiors and kin, but Illynx has deeper needs to fulfill on this day than a sated racist ego; pointedly, she turns to catch the words of the King, her smile sweet and believable on her ruthlessly beautiful face.

She nods when its appropriate, the most notable her reply that yes, she can see that Time has worn away quite heavily on the borders of the Edge. Her smile is on that seems to understand and relate to the golden lord of the mists, but it truly reflects her self made reminder to thank the Lord of Storms for blessing her with such a gracious thing as the fall of the Dragonheart, to have replaced her with a tender sunflower and a valiant knight rather than her entourage of beastly dragon pets or hardened, distrustful soldiers. Its with no surprise that she has found the painted Queen wanting on words or wisdom in comparison to her counterpart, and for that she is thankful – more than a simple racist, the burgundy streamers of feminism burn within her, a firm belief within her mind that, while males were generally physically superior, there was no finer honed edge than that of a woman’s wit.

Kahlua the Sunshower was no more than raw flint, rounded and with the traces of purpose yet to be revealed, and in comparison to the steel of the Lady of the snow, so outmatched was the other femme fatale present that Illynx might indeed be chuckling at the lack luster intelligence and pride of the Queen (for what true woman lets a man do the speaking for her?) rather than the partial joke woven into Kaj’s words.

"Oh, certainly," she chimes in with a giggle, agreeing that facts are important before making decisions as steep as siding with the serpents coiled tight round the bosom of the Steppe, though it is Lena that answers the question adeptly and with her signature sorrow laced palm to palm with her inner sweetness. The doctor’s words are met with another question rising from counsel man Aaron, to which Illynx turns her face with that same gentle and friendly expression she has worn throughout the trivialities that have led to these words of importance.

Darkness and doom don’t bother her, not one bit; its evident in how lightly she talks about the wolves snapping their teeth outside her door.

"They are led by Confutatis, self called Daughter of Warlords and a menace to all she meets, a mare of no good intensions for even the world she lives in," she says, flicking her mangled, half melted ear to them in a testament of her own encounters with the rotten Skullface, "if I could procure the vision of Arah and her daughters for you, sweet Glazier, I would. No one seeking only a bit of paradise is so cruel to their captives as what befell our friend and her darlings; I firmly believe that if Arah had not managed to escape, she would have died at their hooves. She very nearly did."

"If you want my honest opinion on what they are seeking to attain…" a pause slips between her words, her smile a stark contrast to the dark words that fall from her lips next, "she comes to burn down the world, singing along to the sounds of our death throes. She wants nothing, and she’ll obliterate everything until she has it."