Today the rumbling thunder was still, the Lady walking alone beneath the pristine open blue of the sky with her platinum armor gleaming, the folds of the cloth that held it to her dampened by the lacquering of sweat building along her frame as she strides through the tall, green grasses that fill the ring of mountains. Her son, now old enough to be left on his own with faith that he wouldn’t cause any embarrassment of true greatness to either of their reputations, was off exploring the Basin, probably with the winged half breed that they had found in the Thistle Meadow.

She had done her best to teach the boy of her ways, to press into his soft mind that the girl known as Aithniel was inferior to him for her wings and mixed heritage; she had explained that, had he not insisted on keeping her, she would have left her there in the sand, perhaps telling the Edge on her way through that a child was dying in the desert. Of course, she elaborates that it would all be a clever ruse to make her look less wicked than the truth, had that been the case – a grand show of being to weak to carry her herself, that the babe couldn’t even stand to nurse… But all her wickedness played little influence on Rikyn’s love of his adopted sister, and even as her wings grew more unsightly with each passing day, the boy grew all the more oblivious to their presence.

Perhaps she should just let it be; it is fine to love one or a few of the enemy if you are still using them to your purpose. She ponders in what way she might shape his lessons to encompass this facet of self preservation in her son as she walks, her golden lined body streaming with grace from the sunlit vale into the dark, cool haven of the pine woods that ringed it.

Rarely is she bothered here, in this place. It is too quiet and peaceful to truly warrant others company, the sort of domain that those who wish to be alone may come and others will respect their decision to be so. That was not to say that the wildlife of the mountain herd gave as much care to the solemn nature of those who wandered the fragrant forest.

As she rounds a path that will carry her about the feet of one of the great peaks that hide her home from the prying eyes of the world, her quiet walk is shattered by the capricious song and flight of a group of young griffons, their mothers over head in the high branches of the ancient conifers and jagged outcroppings of the mountain, and all this region of the forest is filled with the sounds of their elation. It is a common thing in Helovia, the ascendance of the winged, magical creatures into the skies, but Illynx herself has never been so close to an occurrence and she silently curses herself for not having brought Rikyn along for her walk.

He would have loved this.

The feathered cats dip and dive gracefully through the air after the less than elegant first moments in the wind’s grasp, and she smiles at their delight and marvels at the beauty of the elders who swoop in to assist and train their hatchlings. She continues to walk beneath them, golden eyes angled upwards to watch their lessons and to spy upon those who do not dot the sky with their myriad colors, pausing only when she spies something sticking out like a great red beacon with glowing eruptions of light.

The rugged stone on which the black bird woman sat was lower than most, her oil-like feathers gleaming lucidly in the filtered light. The Lady, usually one to follow her impulses, steps towards the Harpy, her golden eyes still gleaming with the joy of watching the hatchlings in play, highlighted by her wonder and why it is this creature roosts among the unicorn’s friends.

She asks as much, as she pauses before her. ”Why have you chosen to roost among the Griffons, mistress?” the inquiry is light, not mocking; she has heard tales of the Harpy that leave her quite sweet and innocuous in the magical creature’s presence, and would loathe to offend a woman with the surely massive talons that rest beneath her black bosom.

Illynx has not forgotten the stupid blue dragon back at the Edge. Time bless Lena and her ability to mend the savaged ruins of such a splendid coat as her own.