Her return is not a particularly glorious one.

The weather is atrocious - a foul mix of humidity and hammering rain, causing the silver mare to both sweat and shiver in equal measure. She is not bothered by rain, but it is only worthwhile when it's accompanied by a storm, else what's the point? Alas, there is no storm, no majesty in the sky for Nyx to observe with greedy delight, there is just pounding rain and incessant springtime heat. Her head is held low against the driving bullet-like raindrops, tail swinging behind her to rid herself of the flies that insist on feasting on her. It is a far cry from the first time she set hoof in Helovia over a year ago, when there had been a chill in the nighttime air and a palpable sense of excitement surrounding her at the idea of new land.

She doesn't know how long she has been gone. Long enough for Dominus to grow from a harmless fluffy white cub into a full-sized killer, long enough for her ninth birthday to come and go and for grey hairs to begin to inch their way into her black points. Her search had been fruitless; her father was nowhere to be seen, and even when she located a couple of her children (her sons strong stallion leaders, her daughters fine broodmares for their kings) she did not find sanctuary. Although her offspring welcomed her with open arms, the rest of their herds shunned her for the white lion at her heel, pinning ears and flailing kicks at him with cries of predator. They did not understand the mental bond between Nyx and Dominus, the bond that she had initially been so reluctant to embrace but now could not imagine living without. The herds wouldn't have her, not when they feared her pet would eat them in their sleep. So the silver soldier had no choice but to leave, and it quickly became apparent that she would only be accepted back in Helovia, where companions and magical abilities practically grew on trees.

It has taken weeks of travelling to bring her back here, arduous walking over a multitude of terrains. They have to stop regularly so Nyx can graze and Dominus can hunt, and the white titan of a lion is currently wearing the remnants of his last meal, some poor unfortunate deer. Blood coats his lips and there's flecks of it in his thick mane, the look completed by the femur he clutches between his deadly fangs. Like a dog Dominus carries his prize with animalistic pride, teeth fastened securely around the bone with the thickly knotted muscles of his maned neck bulking to hold up the weight of it. He might be a smaller version of the lions that prowl the wilderness, but he is still a capable killer and takes great predatory pride in keeping trophies from his prey, much to Nyx's chagrin. Even the driving rain that causes his mane to slick tight to his neck can't depress him, and there is a distinct sense of happiness floating down their mental bond into Nyx's own mind. Through him she can feel the blood seeping onto a waiting tongue, can feel the hard lines of the bone against hooked teeth, feel the pleasure at a prize so painstakingly caught.

The trees create an ominous tunnel around the duo as they move, sheltering them from the rain somewhat. This is a familiar path for the silver soldier and she is reminded of her first time treading this same ground, when she had no lion by her side and in her mind, no magic searing through her veins, but she did have the newly-found figure of her father next to her. How times have changed! I'm better, comes Dominus' growling mental voice. He is an arrogant creature, vain and self-centred, determined to place himself above all others in Nyx's affections. Since he learnt to talk a couple of months ago, he has used his newfound skill to make barbed comments and assertions in conjunction with the mental images he sends her. She simply flashes him a sickly sweet smile as she draws to a halt by the very same tree she'd stood by last time. Who would approach her now, she wonders?

The sound of claws on bone draws her attention and she looks down to see Dominus sprawled comfortably on the sodden grass, femur held firmly between his jaws as he uses it to sharpen his talons. The rasp is like nails on a chalkboard, and the mare pins her sensitive ears with a hiss. "Can you put that down and clean yourself up? Nobody's going to invite us if they think you're going to eat them. Be a white fluffy cuddle-lion instead of a bone-chewing death-lion, maybe?" Dominus responds with a sound she can only describe as a laugh, a deep throaty growl that rumbles out of his lips and around the bone he holds so dear. With smug ease, he continues to gratingly rasp his claws against his trophy, playing no heed to his companion's pleas. ""