Age was a curious notion. I seemed to be preserved, not like a fossil, but rather, my prime seemed to have extended, improved even, as the years went on. The blood of my veins was ancient blood, derived from a long line of royalty, of unicorns who lived for centuries; by their standards, I was still a filly, on the cusp of earning respect from my elders. It was forever curious for me to observe the way those around me seemed to age with acceleration; the young always wanting to grow larger and older in order to be stronger and better, the old always yearning to be young, always reflecting on the times they had been through, never looking forward to the times still left ahead of them like they used to when they could still see themselves as young. All of them were young to me, all of them foolish and sometimes idiotic, some of them proving their worth even in the mere decade they might have lived. In their eyes, I was the epitome of an aged, wizened old hag, and yet in myself, I knew I had much life yet to live.

The rhythm of dance seemed to vibrate through the mists, the joyous steps stirring a restless energy amidst the foggy confines of my little abode. Svelte soldiers stood to attention atop my poll, my tail swung from side to side, smoothly sweeping the mists into a beat that my legs were soon following. Bowing my horn deeply, then lifting it up in a great arc, I sliced through the veil of mist and damp, and emerged from my camp with a flurry of slender limbs and silken tresses waving in my momentum. It did not matter that the journey took me several minutes, that the dancing was complete by the time I arrived in the clearing, that conversation had already started; I merely felt as if my presence was warranted here, and when that feeling struck, I was to be in attendance. A light snort filtered through my nostrils as I came to a smooth stop, the cadence of my limbs altering to a controlled walk, my nape stretching out before me as I greeted the grulla equine and her dragon, and the black dun unicorn with a customary tilt of my horn.

"Hail, Valiant and Wild Rose." I speak softly, yet loud enough to be heard without difficulty, my words gentle yet purposeful; I do not believe in wasting breath on useless chitter, and so I halt my breath there, allowing the others to fill the void with their own thoughts and words, instead of my own. It was bound to be an interesting conversation, to be sure.