She did not trust him, but then, she trusted very few. He had been one of hers, once - had he changed so very much from the steed that she had known, however briefly, then? Or, a better question, had she changed so very much from who she had once been? To the former, she had no answer; and to the latter, an answer she knew all too well. She had changed, more so than she cared to admit. She had never known the stallion, not really, and so if he had changed, it would be imperceptible to her. And so it was left to him to make a new impression, one that mirrored the old, one that reassured her that he was not just some strange enigma, once-unicorn, now-hybrid (or something?).

Skin stretches over a muscular form as he moves closer, and the shadow-mare was distracted, for a moment, by the picturesque strength that his form suggested. She would have loved to invite a healthy, strong unicorn stallion to join her ranks, even if he did not share her exact beliefs. Provided he would not track filth into her lands, she would permit him to stay, he and his companion. But he had wings now, and even if she should invite him, how would her brethren feel about his arrival? They would not speak kind words to her, though she would have cared little previously. But she had changed in ways based on necessity, and now she had to think of such things.

"Do not hesitate upon these wings, Psyche." So he caught her staring. Well, she figured that he would. Only an idiot would have missed her obvious preoccupation. "They are a curse made manifest, brought to rest upon my shoulders by the Sun God on the day of his return; I desired them no more than you wish to lay your head upon this sand at night." The question was whether or not he spoke the truth. He had no reason to lie, she reasoned. He had no reason to help her. So why was he? He would know of her hatred of the winged and the hornless. And yet, he offered to help her, despite his recent mutilation. What did he want from her? What did he seek?

Revenge. It was a whisper in her mind, a coy little voice that echoed into the corners of her whirring mind. He wanted, of course, what they all wanted. Their goals were one and the same; they were on the same side of this battle. The Time God had been specific in his command that they remain apart from the remainder of Helovia, but he had said nothing about alliances with outcasts, loners, banished from the other herdlands. "Such a curse is a terrible fate," she offers, an emotionless form of sympathy. "But then, I suppose you would make the best of it, wouldn't you? You offer me help - what would you have me give in return?"

[W/C | ---]