The wave of Azzuen's death had swallowed the land in a mournful state. The vibrant red of the rocks even looked tainted with a dull grey tone, the Dragon's Throat reflecting the loss, as if the General had been plucked from the hearts of all; Cassiopeia, her children, Kri, Midas, and the earth itself. The only face which still shown brightly was the face of Onni. It was not that the mare did not grieve the passing of her mentor's brother, the first friendly face which she had stumbled upon in Helovia, but that she simply did not mourn the way that others might. Tears had fallen unrestricted from her face at the death scene of Azzuen, as the glowing body of Cirrus reminded her ever so poignantly about the attempt she had given to steal Voltaic back from the grips of death itself. The light of the great zephyr, which cleared Azzuen's noble body, was cleansing and healing to the heart of the shaman, and she did not cry since. The sadness had been woven into her heart next to the memory of Voltaic, but she would not mourn for weeks like some.

The depression of the healer was sporadic, clinging to the memories of her passed loved ones, creeping up on her when she least expected tears to fall. Her mood was otherwise in tact, the brightness of her step being returned the next day, ready to lend those heavy of heart some of her self-created sunshine. She follows the call on the wind, summoning the healer of the land. Of course, Onni was quite pleased that Cirrus had undertaken a position as another of the God's chosen medics, and was almost certain the spritely filly would respond first despite her sour disposition since her father's passing, but still, bleached legs pick up their pace and move in the direction of the border, the chirp of a surprised bird following behind her. Lyhty catches up on his small wings, gripping down on her wing and nestling tight between the bend of the appendage and her back, settling in for the short jaunt toward the edge of the desert.

Sky blue eyes fall on figures quite familiar and some quite unusual, but with the same light kindness that extends out from her soul. A pleasant smile riding easily on her lips even as her gaze lingers curiously on the arbor backed mare for an extra second, coming to rest easily upon the face of Cirrus. "Welcome ladies," the shaman says toward the pale mare and the earthen body of the lignea, a strange creature to her eyes, but one that was accepted without too much thought. Glancing over the other side of Cirrus, Onni smiles at the Throat mare she doesn't recognize, and lastly comes toward the hellhound with a cheerful glance. Sitka had been a blessing for Cirrus as of late, and the tobiano would have been much more worried about the young girl were it not for her ever watchful companion.

Extending a muzzle toward the shoulder of the girl painted with a dark cloud which hovers precariously over their heads, Onni greets her friend gently. "I am Onni, shaman of the Dragon's Throat," her voice is light and airy as she turns her focus back on their visitors, strange and beautiful. "What brings you to our home in search of the healers?"
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