She watches him come, the slow and deliberate pace of the stag one that she finds charming and evidence of a sure spirit – she herself has always moved with the regalia of a queen even when she was a nobody and she finds the pride ushering from each even step a comfort. It is such a presence that bolsters her elitist opinions, that the unicorn is the natural keeper of the world, that they and they alone have the wisdom and strength necessary to provide balance and success among mortals.

He pauses just before her and she lets her gaze sweep across him, this man who approaches and offers her a title but does not bow his head as is traditional among civilized beings. But he is not civil, at least not in the traditional sense; the tinges of accent that frame his every word and the odd construction of the words themselves lends her to think that, while he has all the skills necessary to survive in this ruthless place, he does not know enough of their culture to provide the perfect guise he is looking for. In time, she thinks, her golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she inclines her head ever so slightly in return of his greeting.

The words that follow his improper hello prompt her back into a more smiling state, her lips curving with feminine grace as the bird sings and flits capriciously through the air above them with its mate. A sharp look is shot to the winged things and they quickly moves away after the initial playful display – perhaps they have seen her strike their brethren from the skies for rousing her too early in the twilight hours with their playful songs and knows that the golden Lady, while splendid and regal, is cold and merciless as the snow in which she lives and will not hesitate to bring his songs to an eternal cessation.

An ear pulls back atop her head to reveal her weariness and her lack of desire for conversation, but aside from that singular sign of her irritable nature at this moment in time and the chasing away of the birds, she is the usual effervescent creature that can normally be discovered here. Her smile is sweet and her words dancing and elegant, her golden eyes glimmering with their inner light as always. "Home?" she playfully retorts, "the wilds must have been terrible indeed to have created such a passion for the stone within you so quickly." Her laughter is light and breezy, a drift of snow caught in the warming winds of spring.

"Did you learn anything of Helovia in your ventures?" she asks after her giggles subside into her generic, sultry purr, "I am an admirer of stories and tales of venture, especially when they pertain to my darling kin."