The rain came, though Illynx could not know the irony with which it broke, a bright streak of lightning illuminating their bodies, framed so temptingly close to one another. It was beyond the corporal to assume that she was being played, a doll easily arranged upon tiny, hand crafted furniture; in her mind's eye, it was this devilishly handsome man that was being manipulated, though she meant him no true harm. She simply enjoyed basking in his presence, the way his eyes followed her, that he continued to respond to her ramblings with his good intentions seemingly intact, and as the rain streaked down in the grey air and pooled about the entrance of the icy cavern, she allowed a fleeting hope in her heart to burn that he might enjoy her as well, or would at least allow her the illusion that the rain would never cease, leaving them alone here while all of Helovia sat still as the grave outside of the azure tunnel.

Her golden gaze was thoughtful as he reproached once more her notions of heat beneath the velvet brown and white of his flesh, her eyes tracing the toned musculature of his shoulder, amused that he had swept over the sensual invocations of her statement and gone instead to the logical, the black and white of the world. It told much of his character, that he was grounded firmly in reality and not often lost within his own thoughts and imagination as she was; that she had not deduced this from his quick dissent of her theory of frozen ancients in the ice was of slight shame to her, now that she realized she had missed an important truth about the red horned soldier. Perhaps he was colder than even she, deep within his heart, and she pined to truly discover the depth to which frost had devoured his spirit, if he could freeze her blood if she were to reach out and touch him.

"Struggle," she mused, her eyes growing out of focus as she thought of her own troubles, the battles she had deemed worthy in her life and those that she had discarded, "perhaps it is the only flame in life. But who is without it, truly? Do you have no afflictions within your soul?" She expected no answer, the question dying into nearly a whisper as she found that his response, no matter what he said, would tarnish the beautifully shining image she had painted of his spirit within her mind. Where was the room for Deodat to be a fabled golden knight in her strange games if he was to lie or admit his weakness? It was for such reasons that she knew that she was deeply conflicted within herself; that while she had talked boldly of being ice, she was perhaps only crystal encasing an insatiable flame, liable to burst at any moment, and equally without rights to judge the flaws of others. But, more and more throughout her life, the corporal had discovered that no one was fair, and so she had decided that she would not be either.

His next question drew her eyes back around from their positioning out of the cave, to his face, the honest curiosity etched within its features drawing a smile to her lips as she pondered a response. This Deodat was drawing from her such pleasure that she wasn't aware she could feel before when first conversing with someone, an occurrence that also brought to mind that she should be more careful with how she indulged her curiosities; that he had already drawn such a vast amount of curiosity from her was in itself unusual, and something to be wary of. Still, she felt rather inclined to allow the fun to continue, her grin coy and playful as she observed him from over a golden strewn shoulder. "I see that you are not all ice," she teased, a giggle capriciously escaping her lips and a hope within her that the statement would ignite a glimpse of his vibrant and seductive anger once more, hooves chiming as she stepped a few paces back to avoid encroaching water that was seeping in from the frozen ground outside and her tail raised and fanning across her hindquarters as she shifted, "I also see an intriguing and dexterous mind, a capable form, your honor worn as proudly as your blade...and much charm to besiege a woman such as myself."

He listened to her ruminations of the state of the Plague with his quiet sensibilities, speaking of a lack of faith within herself as she turned the rest of her body about to hear his words more fully; perhaps this was true. She had been gone for so long from Helovia that it was as if those she had known even before leaving were newly met strangers, their intentions like smoke that she could not grasp no matter how she struggled. And, as she thought over the conversation that had been held here in the Arch, she found that Deodat himself had renewed some of her hope with his stoicism, the strength that ebbed and flowed from his pores. For the first time since returning home, Illynx questioned whether or not Psyche was simply loosing her touch; surely with such strong blood among them - from Illynx herself to the myriad warriors that she knew to be faces of the Plague to ruby crowned Deodat - they could overcome many of the hornless, purify the world with more vehemence than a single body at a time. "If we are strong enough, then give me an ocean of blood," she stated, her eyes gleaming brilliantly at the thought of a battlefield strewn with the corpses of pegasi and equine, her glorious kin standing proud above the carnage, "but there is not even a puddle to be stepped over, only threats from surrounding herds that we respond to by cowering upon our mountain. Where is there room to lay faith upon that, Deodat?" In her opinion, there was none.