Another comes, this one a hardened warrior - Azzuen can see it, the posture, the confidence, the hatred with which he orchestrates his every move. It would be foolish for Azzuen to discount the mares as non-threats, for he had seen two of them on a battlefield, but he couldn't help but feel his hair raise on end as he considered the harsh, steely stare of this stallion. Masking his discomfort, the charcoal brute allowed a smirk, bordering on taunting, to curl the contours of his lips, growing only deeper, more permanent as the tell-tale signs of another set of wings approaching caused the winds to change, increase and bring forth his leader.

The steed ignored the prisoner for the most part, he was satisfied enough to see that she knew she would not be walking away so easily. The whereabouts of their other prisoner would be kept hidden, until such a time as they earned their freedom. Azzuen breathed, looking to each of the gathered with sharp, keen eyes, whose hue seemed to be turning more icy by the second. Kri landed, and he did nothing more than flick an ear to her - he didn't need to view her to know where she stood, both physically and morally. They were comrades, allies, friends - Kri had become something of a sister to him, and he a protective brother. He needn't worry about her scorn against him, today, at least.

Kri echoes his sentiments, addressing the horned one who holds a cordial tongue herself, the bay miss who would carve colourful words from any dire situation. She posed questions that rustle curious thoughts to swell, awakened more unanswered questions, opened infinitely more doorways to confusion, politics and the honour involved in alliances, trusts, covenants. Azzuen nodded, a small, modest gesture, his eyes only wavering in their guarded watch of the gathered unicorns, flickering from horn to horn, never allowing the situation to fall to a more relaxed state - it was the gentle lull of Lena's voice that would lower their guard, creep through their security, and prove their ruin - but Azzuen would not allow it.

He acknowledged the words through his small nod, but did not proffer his own in response -such politics were best left to one more qualified, one with a more poetic tongue than his own, one who would efficiently eradicate the hopes these unicorns might possess. Friction was a side effect of keeping common foes, time would tell whether this friction would lead to an explosive fire, or would the coarse surfaces smooth over, and a kinship be forged? Azzuen snorted, knowing already the more likely outcome.

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