She is not confrontational by nature; So what, the boy wonders, Are you doing here? She frowns at him, refusing to answer a question he knows has no real purpose except to aggravate. Charcoal hooves kick sand at the fox, who scurries away with an indignant yip, running to reach the group who they have come to investigate, drawn by an acidic taste of magic which drifted across to Oasis to where they though to graze. Natraj leaps gleefully through the grass, a shadow in the brush hunting his prey. From the fronds that grow around the lake he leaps, oversized ears flapping gloriously in the breeze. His prey is Inari, and he hopes to take the younger fox by surprise.

Behind him his sister is less amused, for she can hear the anger of an unknown filly, and smell the magic rising in the air. The filly and Sacre face away, their backs to the girl as she makes her approach, and her black gaze shifts to the source of the conflict, an opulent mare of gilt and cream. She reeks of the the magic that tastes like thistle, glitters with something surreal and mature- but so does the younger girl, and they both make the crimson child feel a deep pang of shame. Lacking wings, lacking beauty, lacking the mature and soft lines of the mare, Tandavi is nothing but a gangly girl quickly loosing the benefit of youth.

She pushes down this rising doubt, forcing her head to rise high, striding toward them with an illusion of confidence. Despite the beauty of the starry mare, she is unimpressed with her treatment of the little filly, and even less amused by Sacre's failure to defend the child. She thought her friend(?) to be better than that; sure, the mare is a beauty, but that should not be enough to make the boy lose his wits.

"Your cruelty is not appreciated." She has placed the filly between Sacre and herself, unwilling to even look at the bloodstained boy, for to look would mean to see the disgusting adoration with which he regards the mare, and to confront the latent jealousy which rides within her breast. Instead she keeps her gaze on Phaedra, black eyes burning but face composed. "You are welcome here-" she glances at the filly "-so long as you bear us no ill will."

It is the first use of her newfound authority, and she wears it like a too-tight glove, not quite fitting into the position but not falling out, either; a passable ruse. At the base of her neck she can feel magic rising, and becomes dimly aware of the mare's powers leaking into her, of a blanket of something leaking onto her coat. She wonders if she'll now sparkle like the mare, and wonders if Sacre will notice her for it, and then she pushes both ideas away like errant flies, refusing to acknowledge the thrill that fills her at the thought. Eyes still trained on the golden mare and voice still full and deep and light, she finishes, "If Sohalia is not here you may wait." I'm sure someone would be happy to keep you company, but she does not say this out loud, her ire with Sacre playing lines around her eyes.

@[Amani], @[Sacre] | Hope you don't mind if I jump in! Tavi's accidentally replicating Phaedra's magic.

Tandavi