Her children take the first drink, without hesitance accepting the meal she lays out before them and the label she gives them. They are her prized possessions now, they are her children and hers alone to raise, to feed and nurture and discipline. She is a gardener, they are her plants, she will water them, bring light to them and watch them grow under her guiding hand. She will trim away the brittle browning leaves, keep away the pesky bugs that may try to bring ruin to them, she will be as patient as she can with them. But Colt is not known for her patience, and it wears thinner than thread, straining and feeble compared to the rest of her. 

Her children stand in awe at the woman they see, the only other witness to their beginning moments with clumsy limbs and curious faces, while they feel out what is their body and the earth beneath their feet. She almost wishes she'd headed deeper into the forest, perhaps slipped past the borders of Helovia to delve into the miracle of childbirth, to keep her children from the eager maws of justice and peace and virtue, where their sinless beings trifle with unfair gods. Colt has turned her eye to the belief of such gods, they have never done a damned thing for her, for who would take pity upon a sinner like her? What god would look down upon her and give her their sympathy, who would cast aside her acts against the calm of Helovia, the unfair equality they lived beneath, and take her in. No god would, nor would they look at her children that way— as though they are pure and innocent when they are twins of calamity, when kings and fools alike will bow at the destruction they will cause, where they will be revered by the equine community as revolutionists. 

Colt watches greedily a dragon draped in midnight, scorched with darkness, entrusted with power and jewels, descending to provide to her an offering. A precious metal, an amulet used commonly by the majority of Helovia, a magical item entrusted to the residents. Some gave protection, others offered a storage for magic to be used during battle, this particular one being offered to the brindled Emperor deflected magic, casting it back to the opponent. How greedy and eager she was to receive this gift, gunmetal eyes falling hungrily to it with anticipation (she tried not to appear so impatient, she didn't want to scare the pretty mare away). Colt lets her messy mane become subject to change, feeling the winged companion tie it to her onyx tresses, her eyes flickering to the skull-faced damsel. 

The description of the male brings back the taste of his skin, feeling a ghost of his touch while her eyes grew half lidded and a smirk grew across her features. "Yes, that sounds like him." She gives Nymeria, the supposed wombmate of Volterra, another once over. Colt eats up her curves, her youth, envious of her tall and composed stature, her femininity, she could entice whomever she pleased with a body like that and that thought made Colt ever so jealous. She hadn't been gifted with beauty or delicate curvature, instead she was stout, compact and held herself arrogantly. Colt was vicious, a solid kick to the shin, an aggressive snap at your accusing finger, she never held her tongue and perhaps that's why she's hated by so many. 

Colt eyes Nymeria, brows furrowed as she questions the reasoning behind such a request. This idea of letting darkest black taint the minds of her offspring made her sick, to think this mare could counteract everything she tells her children, and maybe Colt would never know. This so called aunt of theirs would play no major role in their lives, she'd simply be a piece to be batted around and chatted up on the occasional mild day, nothing more and perhaps less. Grinding her teeth, she glances at the two before bowing her head in agreement, trying to replace her displeasure with a false calm. "I'll allow it," her steel sight lifts as she raises her head and lets her expression fall, wishing she was taller so her gaze could be more intimidating that amusing. A step out of line, and Colt would wear this girl's hide like a cherished prize upon her back, the killing blow would be clean and her aim would be true. 
"TALK TALK TALK"