"After my conference with the healers would you meet me across the bridge please. We have much to discuss."

He'd requested to meet her after his business had been concluded with the healers, Nephele had paused in her step as the words filtered into his mismarked ears. Yes, she supposed they did have much to talk about. So the warrior had arched her powerful neck to glance at the antlered stag and nodded. "I'll be here." She'd uttered. "Atreus will tell me when you're finished." Her own crowned countenance raised toward the Vulture who circled them lazily.

She'd flown away after that, once they'd made it safely across, back toward the red washed cave she called home. Enough time surely, for Tilney to conduct his business and enough time for her to be assured their sons hadn't gotten themselves into trouble. Once she'd made sure both Byron and Jude hadn't strayed from their home, she'd lazily taken off again and aimed back toward the bridge.

In good time too, Atreus' consciousness drifted against hers, a nudge to let her know that it'd been concluded and Tilney awaited her. Her muscular frame tensed, knotted with the knowledge that he was there because of their children. She'd never been particularly good with heated debates, while she'd certainly learned patience on her entry into the Throat, she much preferred to say everything that needed to be said by the clash of teeth and hooves. Honed muscle rammed against the sweat soaked body of the offending equine as bellowed words roared into the heated air. A breath is exhaled, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd have to behave somewhat, cordial for the sake of the two little souls tucked neatly out of sight, safe and warm.

Hind hooves touched down on the dune as her wings stretched outward, they remained arched for a moment before they curled back toward her sides. The Amazonian waited a respectable distance away from the gathered and departing parties, whatever they'd talked about wasn't anything for her ears anyway. Atreus returned to her, taloned feet pressed wrapped around locks of her long hair as he perched upon her neck. The desert flowers woven in her fringe waved in the occasional gust of wind, gifted by Jude and Byron both as they'd began to bloom with Frostfall's passing. Blue and yellow, just like her eyes. When it appeared that everything had been said and done, the mare half turned toward the ginger stag.

"Tilney." She called, a snort followed. Cordial, she'd have to be, at least until things went southward. "I trust they didn't give you a hard time?" It's half joked, half serious. The Throat didn't have a reputation based on flowers and peace pipes, after all.


"Speech."