"I beg you, dear Lady, do not torture my brother with your charm and guile - for he has traveled long, and is no doubt too floored by your beauty to play your games."

Our Prince's voice cuts through the murky woods like a flaming sword, warm and bright, rich as chocolate, dripping with diction. He has followed his brother, for he thinks the elders foolish; he hopes to convince Leliel to return home with him, no matter how long it takes. This infernal land disgusts him, the humidity that dulls his ivory coat nearly as appalling as the stench of unclean, broken equines. Our Prince knows nothing of the plights those here have suffered, nor does he care. He has simply come to bring his foolish brother home, to rescue him from mares like this one, dark and subtle things that would seek to confuse, to contort, to distract. Our Prince does not have any reason to like the mare.

But he does not show this, of course. His face is a picture perfect display of charisma and debonair charm; his body language is flawless, open and nonthreatening; his wings lay relaxed upon his sides; he shines, our Prince, the image of perfection. He has been walking, which is less than favorable, but the heat of this wretched land drew him from the sky, into the trees. Fortunate, too, for otherwise he may have missed Leliel all together - our Prince sends a prayer to the Gods, for surely they have blessed their favored son with this good fortune.

He has avoided his brother thus far, for he knows that when the time comes for confrontation, he will not want some lowly shadow mare observing the interaction. However, our Prince does move to stand alongside his kin, posture easy and expression light, even as his silver eyes stay on the midnight creature. Reluctant to offer any sign of amiss, he offers more easy conversation, questioning and praying that Leliel does not land them in a tight spot. Our prince could care less for where they have landed, for he does not expect to remain here long; however, the great golden best interests him greatly. First things first, however.

"My lady," he begins, the smile of nobility dazzling, natural, hiding it all. Leave us. I have no desire for your presence. "Forgive me; I am Shamsiel, Prince of Janat" - he wears the title like a cloak, protection against this barbaric place and whatever customs they may hold - "and I have no doubts that my brother Leliel has already made himself known to you." He has many doubts on this subject, but that is not for her to know. "I beg to know, what might I call one so fair, as well as your golden companion?" Genuine, true genuine admiration, although she is not to tell the difference - yet this creature entrances him, serpentine and lupine and feline and winged. Our prince wonders how one so common could have entrapped such a beast. Some vile magic, perhaps, treachery and lies.