She steps back, ears pinning for a moment, as he spits venom at her. She was still at a loss for what had caused such a rift between them, the memory of their battle shrouded within a murky shadow, with only glances and blows flashing clearly through the haze. She composes herself, veils her features beneath a smile and a raised brow. "A pleasure as always," she retorts, sidestepping the sword beneath his words, seemingly unperturbed by his behavior. She casts her smile to the small deer, true warmth sparkling within her churning stormy gaze. "Hello to you too, handsome boy," she croons, hoping to reward the contrast in greetings between man and bonded.

Again she looks to the gilded stallion, and for a moment has to credit the gods for the way time had treated him. He had grown remarkably, handsome features carved into his face, despite the forced facade of a smile that had found its way to his lips. He had shrugged off the last hints of childhood, and stood powerfully, handsomely, among the trees. Rumors had told her the Basin had found a new king, promising a Puppeteer, a young stallion with a familiar name, and though it was shocking to hear that anyone would crown a reckless youth, a wild outcast, to lead them, she could gather that perhaps he had grown to the role. Still, she hated to assume.

"Who says I was out here looking for trouble," she replies, shrugging her graceful shoulders dismissively. "I was simply roaming, reminiscing, wondering who patrolled the steppe these days." Wondering if I could still find my home in these mountains. With a careful flick of her tail, she discarded the final thought. No reason to tempt the man, no desire to flaunt a desire before him so he could snuff her out, banish her before she could even make an honest attempt at returning.

A cold chill ran across her pelt, sending a shiver down her spine. Things were changing, and not just the seasons. Something bigger, something more profound, hovered just past the horizon, waiting to breech the line between earth and sky, wanting to devour the sun. She shook off the feeling, knowing it was just nerves playing with the loose strings that hung from her agenda.

"So, Rikyn," she continues, ignoring the obvious desire to shake her from his path to resume his acts in solitude. She leans back on her delicate and sloping haunches, cocking a rear hoof. "I heard through the grapevine that they decided to give you a crown?"

Despite the coyness of her words, hidden somewhere beneath the derision, was a warmth, a playfulness. And though it could be easily missed, it was very real, and very much there, if one was willing to hear it.