That strange, peculiar pull in her breast did not lessen even as the divine creature wallowing in the snow seemed to realize that she was no longer alone. There was no scent of blood on the wind, nor the acrid smell of panic or sweat, and so Rhiannon couldn't truly fathom why this vixen was laying pitifully about with moans and salty tears. At least, until, barked vocals were thrown her way and dual-toned eyes widened minutely in posh surprise.

'I'm not harmed,' She screeched, causing Rhiannon to quirk an ear to the side, a thoughtful frown crossing dark lips, 'I'm just getting older.' She went on, inquiring if the brindled devil had ever seen a mare grow old, and Rhiannon promptly tuned out the rest of her shrill exclamation in favor to ponder her aforementioned question.

Had she ever seen a mare grow old? No, no she hadn't, but she had seen a mare die of quivering, decrepit sickness, a sickness that turned a heart into stone and robbed a filly of her mother.

Not a great loss, but Rhiannon assumed that it basically counted for her question.

Silence became her companion as the alluring beauty seemed clash with a struggle inside of herself, stumbling over her words and forming half-hearted syllables in an attempt to explain herself. Was she surprised to see that she was not alone? There was a confused look upon her face that lasted for a mere moment, but it was enough for Rhiannon to grow inquisitive and curious. What in the world was going on in this mare's head?

Perhaps she would lay off attempting to bed the splayed goddess until she knew more about the situation. In all her time, the brindled beast couldn't say that she had ever encountered such a meeting before. Needless to say, she didn't know what the fuck to do.

"... I am fine, I suppose," Rhiannon stated, positively flabbergasted at the strange turn of events. So confused as she was in regards to the situation, she barely noticed that the demons that wrought havoc in her mind were peculiarly silent. Odd. "Merely concerned for your well-being, chou." Hot, molten-gold and frosted, icy-silver stayed locked on the older specimen before her, and curiously Rhiannon lowered her head, nostrils flaring as she sucked in the stranger's scent.

"I am Rhiannon, mare, but some call me Nonnie. I thought you were but a dead thing, the way you wallowed in the snow." A sly, cunning grin returned to the devil's lips. "I am pleased to see that a beauty like yourself still has some life left in you." Elderly or not, she was a beautiful creature, and once more that stirring for a taste of her boiled in Nonnie's gut. A fine wine, begging to be sampled, and oh if Rhiannon wasn't a connoisseur of fine things.

A tilt of the head, a curious look. "May I inquire your name? Or shall I continue to call you 'chou', my chou?"