The mare had shed the illustrious, golden bodice that was her draconic form, suffering through the pain and agony that was the double-edged sword of her magic, though the return of her mental embrace with her dragon had softened it some. Affection was prominent, amidst a whirlwind, a torrent of information, emotions, exclamations, tales, reaffirmations of shared ideals and loves, and the simplicity of a sense of sheer completeness, had encouraged the dragon-mare to return to her equine encasement, and resume treading her home upon four neat, hard, dark hooves. Lithe and flexible as a shadow, she weaved her way through the mists, the trees, over the soft loam, treading carefully so that barely a hint of her presence lingered afterward. Of course, the entire realm seemed to rejoice at the return of its leader, the very winds hummed with life with every swish of her tail, the mists whispered excited hints, spreading rumours of her whereabouts.

The little shadow creature walked as a mirage this day, for while she held her equine bodice, she wanted to use the magic that would allow her to evade an attack from ever landing, magic that would hide her from an enemies eyes, so that none ever knew where she stood, where she was headed, nor where she had been. A golden dragon flitted in the trees above; both were somewhat underweight, but the time since their return had seen their bellies fill with drink and food, necessary sustenance in the direction of healing the weakness that had settled over them during their capture.

The WeyrLeader had hardly stopped thinking of the one responsible for her capture. Xanthos, she recalled the name, as if desperately hoping that if she thought about it enough times, it would make him appear before her, unharmed and free of the Basin just as she was. It was still a surreal circumstance for her, that she would be captured by one who did not believe in what he did, yet did it anyway. That he would guard her, not only against her escape, but also in part, she believed, against what his herd might do to her. He had expressed his feelings to her, he had shown that he was sorry, that he longed to repent, that he was willing to help her escape, in exchange for what she could offer him. Protection. Family. It was such a unique, strange situation, even after discussing it with her comrades, her kin, she knew they would not entirely understand Xanthos the way she had, they had not been there. She hoped it would happen swiftly, that they would not go against her wishes and harm one she had sworn to protect, just as he had protected her.

Ears pricked, and muffled footfalls ceased for a moment, a breath, as something called her attention to the borders of the land. Akaith chortled above her, and swiftly, they moved through the lands together, a flicker of shadow and bent light, and a drop of golden sunlight dancing above the little illusion. A song, melodious and strong, carved by a voicebox healed from its dry and harsh treatment during its time in the Basin, drifted from the maw of the Leader. It was a welcoming song, an angelic and comforting embrace of musical notes and gentle curls of sound. Golden eyes alighted upon similarly golden pools, and like that, the illusion dripped away from the mare, and a smile, broad and true curved her lips.

"Xanthos!" Warm, melodic tones called the name, just as her nose stretched out to properly greet him. His scent was thick with sweat and blood - her blood. "Come quick, to the stream." She could see the fatigue etched into him, the exhaustion that plagued him - but it was important, vitally so, that he refreshed himself, both by drinking and washing his body. Warm wuffles rolled from her chest, and Akaith greeted him in her own way - slightly more guarded than her bonded, but still, the little dragon landed upon the dark mare's nape, and leaned her reptilian head over so that her pointed snout would be in reach of the stallion's own muzzle, should he proffer it in return. Then, the little shadow creature turned her bodice, and, hoping that Xanthos would follow her, led him to the stream. "Welcome home." She spoke, warmth and mirth in her voice, though there was concern evident too, in the crinkle of her brow. Her motion only paused when they reached the stream, where she too bent her crown to the rippling surface of the liquid, and wet her tongue once more.