Invisible brows quirked at the dry reply that she received while the corners of her exquisite mouth pulled down ever so slightly; the ivory princess refused to admit, even to herself, that she could be starting to like the weathered warrior that had lead her here. Casting an exasperated glance toward her most recent acquaintance, Orithia simply grimaced and remained silent. Mind wandering, the ivory lass only half-listened as Iona explained away the mists and the glass. As her painted counterpart continued on, stepping between massive gaps in what seemed to be a partially shattered wall, the coral spattered pegasus slunk forward. Eyes took in her increasingly paradisiacal surroundings, noting the well-trod paths winding through the mossy trunks and the beds of flowers that littered the earth like colorful stars.

Upon seeing the blossoms, Orithia was reminded of her own blooms woven so snugly into her locks. They were wilted now and covered in blood, frail petals torn and limp as they clung to their ivory posts. Flitting toward a small gathering of pale pink chrysanthemums, the mare hurriedly snatched a few and tucked them securely into the feathers at the underside of her wing; hopefully there would be a child or some other stranger that would help her twine the flowers into her mane without the risk of their judgment.

Despite everything that had happened, Orithia maintained her narcissism and she maintained it well.

At the sound of Iona's voice, the mare rushed forward, hoping against all odds that the seasoned pegasus hadn't witnessed her moment of vain weakness but assuming that there was very little that the painted mare would ever miss. Moving so that she walked beside Iona instead of behind her, Orithia made an effort to listen, guessing that her sarcastic acquaintance wasn't one to repeat herself. The desert princess' reply came quickly, though her tone remained as cool as ever,

"You are correct to assume. I have been built for no other purpose. Tell me," her voice had gained a infinitesimal grain of curiosity, "how often are the battlegrounds traversed? And where are your herdmates, shouldn't they be emerging from the woodwork by now, asking after what the cat dragged in?"