Today, the shadow-mare pondered the concept of weakness. She spent a good deal of time considering strength, power, leadership, supremacy - but today, it was weakness. Why? Was she feeling particularly weak? What was weakness, anyway? It could be physical, of course, but she was not hurt or ill, so that was not her concern. It was mental weakness that she worried about. Bah, she thought, shaking her head. Feathers flew, settling in a rather messy clump of mane and trinkets and whatever else was in there. It was one of those days - her banner was running rampant, she was thinking far too much, and the day was still not over.

Faelene's call piqued her interest though, and again she shook, hoping that the mop upon her nape would settle into a more cooperative bundle; alas, it did not choose to settle nicely. She sighed, resigned to the fact that it simply would not lie down, and picked up a trot. Usually, she Lady was not so picky about her appearance, preferring a bit of a wild look. It was more... aggressive. Or something. But today, she felt as though she ought to look the part of leader, and so here she was, worrying about her mane. Is that weakness?

The scent of a skyrat hit her then, and she realized with surprise that it was one that she knew. A soft snarl escaped her maw, a rather un-horse-like sound to be sure, as she remembered the bitch that had not only taken a clump of her mane, but had taken and held her captive. She couldn't have done it without the Snake, the Empress told herself. Not that he's been around lately. It was with irritation that she considers this. Here she was, offering him a home and an alliance, and then he disappeared. Useless reptile. And then she was on them.

"Faelene," she said by way of greeted, a regal nod to the red-maned. And then, with a poorly hidden sneer: "And Kri." She was silent for a moment, fighting with herself. Once she might have leapt to insults and anger, might have called the unicorns surrounding them to actions; but Faelene would not have brought the Sultana here with no reason, and the Thief had somehow gained her trust. Why would she repay it with curses and attacks? "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Tones are wry, poison tinging them, for she cannot keep the disdain from her vocals even if she keeps the insults to her self.

[OOC | Bad post is bad. :| ]

[W/C | ---]

---

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.