Two calls beckon her forward, the first reaching outwards and echoed soon after by another.

It is not often she gets summoned to the fore of the land by two in such rapid succession, and her face reads all that crosses her mind for a rare and fleeting moment, her mask left unused for the time – surprise, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of annoyance briefly make visits to her features as she raises her crown and swings her golden dipped legs into motion, dark tail swaying being her haunches in the biting winter air.

Her companion, regal and proud along the metal plate she so often cleaves to as she and the Gilded Blade traverse the land, rides with wings tight to her speckled frame, golden highlights glittering prettily in the frosty realm beneath the faint tickle of light that breaks from between the white, thick clouds. It is she who spies the two first, as is common with her enhanced vision, and with a clicking of her sharp beak she draws the Lady’s attention to the two children at her doorstep, the reason for the seeming harshness of the griffon’s command.

They are, she assumes, around Rikyn’s age, foaled no later than Birdsong’s end, and she runs her eyes over each as she approaches at a slow and almost floating trot towards where they huddle near each other. She wants to say he’d been at the party, as well, but she can’t truly remember very well at which event or during what hour of the night she had crossed his path, and so as she adorns her beautiful mask of smiles and welcome, she accepts that they are both strangers (but seemingly whole, by their horns and bare shoulders).

Each is marked with a strand of barbed wire, though it takes her longer to find it in the ashen tones of the filly’s pelt, and both are of appaloosa coloration. She has only seen one other man who wears the odd line and knot pattern (for she has no idea what in seven hells barbed wire is), and it draws her curiosity all the further towards the things that flash and gleam at her border.

Krieger had sired two foals and not brought them home?

To what purpose, she wonders, for there were plenty of children here to keep them company, and she has watched her herd change and mold their schedules to be more entertaining or helpful to the babes since their rush of arrival in the spring. Surely they would have been happier here to begin with, she muses, and perhaps why they have come from wherever they were before to be here now.

And where, per chance, is that great hulking behemoth? She hadn’t seen him since the birth of Arya, now that she thought about it, but it wasn’t as if she often didn’t go months at a time without a glance of one of her numerous pets in the mountain. Deodat, for one, often wandered the mountain passes with other soldiers, slaying the wild carnivores that would threaten their hold, perhaps the occasional poor passerby who knew no better where they were - he could be gone for a whole season or more at a time.

Ah, but we are here! She flashes her best of smiles to the children, pretty face nodding her welcome as she stops with a sway of her dark tail around her hind legs, now partially scared by the flames of one of her own (what a humorously awful experience that had been) among the numerous other marks she has earned in her days wielding her fine blade.

"Salutations darlings," she says sweetly, not condescending as perhaps the words would hint but rather like a truly southern waitress, just wanting the kids to feel like they’re at home as she dolls out nicknames, "I am the Lady Illynx, and this is Kyst." The griffon’s wide eyed face bobs out from around the Lady’s shoulder and curtly bows herself, one paw tucking down as her kitty head lowers in a traditional bob, much like the salute her own bonded gives to others – though the griffon holds no rank above her own kin as Illynx does, the pride and ego of her companion long since wore off on the little dear (perhaps made her worse, for she does not know how Illynx struggled and fought to be where she is now), and her arrogance and grace are something to behold.

"What brings you to our mountain this afternoon, hm? You are a bit young to be so far from either of your parents," a smart child would perhaps glean from the jargon used that she knew at least one of them by name – she hopes that they are both dumb, mostly because it then makes their meeting a game in which she gains two new shining and pretty pieces for her playing board.