What the fuck is this place?

The amazon lifts her eyelids to behold a world much different than the one she has come to know. She makes her way across the meadow with caution, nostrils distended as she tests the cool air. The wind twirls the frayed tendrils of her mane through benevolent fingers, and there is an unusual absence of smoke; the sickly fringe of dragon's fire does not coat the air, only the intoxicating, dulcet fragrance of flowers.

This is not her home.

Where she is from there is no green; only ash and char and parched soil. She conveys her battle-worn body warily across this foreign meadow, every hair sticking up from her body like wire. Leonine tail hoists itself high on her haunches and feathered wings - covered in soot and missing quite a few feathers - are held out from her sides at half-mast. She must be delusional, for this is not the place in which she was born. This is a land of peace. She recognizes the geography, but since when did the gnarled bows of the trees sport healthy leaves and succulent fruit? Since when did luscious tendrils of grass shoot up from the usually scorched and fissured earth in such abundance? She oscillates her scarred face, ears swiveling suspiciously atop her crown.

There is a flicker of black and white amongst an ocean of mauve in the distance. She snorts, narrowing her eyes in focus. Midas? What is he doing here as well? She leaps into the air, wings extended as she glides along the breeze, heading toward the apparition. His hostile voice carries easily on the wind. "Do you know who or what magic has brought me here?" She pays no attention to the rest. Hm. So he is seeing this as well... She lands a few yards away.

"Midas. Fancy meeting you here." Her voice is mocking as she makes her way toward him, head held high in a lofty manner and eyebrows tipped upward in amusement as she watches his oh-so-familiar temper flare. Still, she is cautious, muscles tense and leonine tail lashing at her hocks as she wades through gently swaying thistles, the buds softly tickling her legs. The sensation is unfamiliar, but pleasant.

She keeps her distance just incase something goes awry (more so than it already is), though comes close enough to allow her voice to be heard. She peers down at the unfortunate colt who has been forced to bear the brunt of his annoyance. "I'd get outta here real quick, boy. Mr. Loud Mouth here gets real grumpy when he doesn't have his naps." She says emphatically - sarcasm so thick it might actually be mistaken for seriousness until a sly smile tilts the corners of her lips upward. She intends to test the stallion's limits. She always enjoys working him up. It makes for quite a humorous spectacle.

[ Hope you don't mind me saying they're from the same place! ]