The unicorn lowered her head—Nymeria tensed, muscles flexing beneath her iron-and-ash coat—the tapering point of her horn glistening in the red lighting. There was something of a gleam to the other mare’s eyes, a wild and robust glint that Nymeria neither liked nor enjoyed. Too much unpredictability. And that was before the stag lifted his head, his antlers whistling through the air in a crowish display of weaponry, punctuated by a short and heavy snort.

She was ready to fight if necessary, but it would be a meaningless consolation. Victory would be easy enough to come by, with the waterfalls nearby playing havoc with her blood, and her magic pulsing in a latticework at the surface of her skin. There was so much more to be gained from a friend rather than an enemy. So instead of allowing her expression to be privy to the whims of her innate desires, she let lift a courting smile, her gleaming red eyes forthcoming rather than withdrawn. A lowered horn here, tossed antlers there—it wouldn’t make any difference to her games—it would only make her more careful.

Fortunately, her greeting seemed to ease the other pairing. There was certainly a flavor of arrogance to Raeden’s formal repose, and a bluntly boring logic to her words, but Nymeria thought (at least for now) she had been successful in navigating the tense waters.

The grullo shifted her weight back on her hindquarters, propping up a hoof casually. As Raeden looked away, Nymeria followed suit, letting her gaze [apparently] drift over the stark red leaves and flaming water. In reality, she observed the unicorn in modest calculation from her peripheral vision, marking out the untouched hide and cloud-like markings. It looks like her threat was empty, judging on appearance. Admittedly, Nymeria had little in way of battle scars herself; but she thought, with more than a touch of conceit, that she appeared more naturally fearsome.

It was not only her build, heavy and stark with a certain lissome grace from her warmblooded mother, but the way she carried herself: confidence can make all the difference. Even the greatest warlord was nothing if she did not have the confidence to carry her weight and lift up her head.

One of her ears twisted back to Raeden, but no further comment came. My turn, then. Lilómiel let out a caustic snort, smoke flaring up from his nostrils; there was a heavy skepticism to his mind, a returned dislike for Tin. From what she understood of his shuttered thoughts, he believed a deer had no place threatening a mare, especially a mare accompanied by a dragon.

“It is strange,” Nymeria admitted freely, “I’ve been in Helovia since birth, and explored every inch of it. In all my life I cannot remember finding this place before. It doesn’t seem natural, does it?"