The night was late, and as usual, the Weaver was still out and about. While the little hound at his side usually preferred to be curled up and sleeping at this hour, he followed faithfully at Crowley's side, catching little naps here and there whenever the stallion set to mundane things such as grazing. He'd traveled outside of the cradle of the Basin, for once, wondering if the foliage was secretly any better elsewhere. So far, it didn't seem that way.

It was particularly chilly for a Tallsun night, even for the Basin, but it was nothing that the hardy unicorns of the land couldn't handle. A gust of wind tousled the brindle's mane, bringing with it the scent of the Basin's fearless leader, Psyche. Lifting his head, Crowley scanned the area for the dark mare, barely catching a glimpse of her nearly blue form retreating into the depths of a cave. What was she doing away from the Basin? He hadn't seen the mare in some time, busy with his own tasks, but he'd been wanting to speak with her for some time now. With a glance to Talbot, he nudged the pup awake, waiting for him to arise before making his way after the leader. He could only hope that he wouldn't be disturbing Psyche, for although it was growing late, Crowley wasn't sure when he would get the chance to speak with her again.

Entering the cave, he was surprised to see the Empress in such a relaxed state, amber eyes warm, foot cocked. Perhaps it was that he did not know his leader well enough to be used to such a thing, or maybe his mind was simply overreacting. Dipping his head in a respectful welcome to the black mare, he drew to a stop and twitched his ears forward as she began to speak. At his side, Talbot settled down, resting the majority of his weight against the Weaver's front right cannon. Had he not been so deprived of sleep, for he always seemed to be considering his still young age, he would have been bounding around the cave to assure that everyone was greeted properly, by either lick or yip.

Slowly, more filtered in and joined, all members of their secret organization, and within moments, the beginnings of a grin threatened to pull across his face. The thought of putting something in motion with his brothers and sisters was exciting, childish as it may sound, and he was prepared to contribute in any way that he was able. Already he'd been keeping an eye out for those who may make a good addition within the Plague, and had recently brought three new members into the group under Psyche's approval. For a brief moment, he wondered if they would show up here with the rest, before focusing back on the rest of what the Empress had to say.

At the mention of a mare named Angora, Crowley took special note of it, for there was always a chance he could run into her. She would pay for taking one of their kind, no matter who was the one to capture her; although, deep down, he sincerely hoped it might be himself. At the mention of recruiting, there were thoughts of the dreaded Threshold, where every visit seemed to end up the same. A mental sigh was given at the thought, but he was committed to making several visits there for the good of their group.

As quickly as the meeting had began, it seemed to end, with the question of, well... questions. The Weaver thought for a moment, before deciding on one. Although he was certain the answer, what if their newer members were not aware? Other questions were asked, and he only expanded on the one by the towering black stallion standing not far from him. "And should we spy any potential members," he began, "Shall we bring them to you for prior approval?"