The steady thuds of her hooves against the earth steadied the raging of her heart, the cadence easy and elegant as a fine layer of sweat began to shine on her pelt despite the cool summer day. She was aware that something was out of the ordinary, a presence aware of her sporadic training session that watched her from a distance; perhaps it was only a pack of wolves come down from the mountain passes to stare down upon the untouchable prey in the safe guarded mountain valley, but the sensation only gathered the longer she tried to ignore it, and finally she conceded to find the source of the invisible tickle on her spine, drawing her pace from a gallop to an easy canter and then a trot, her blackened muzzle twitching away at the air to scent out who it was.

She was not surprised, really, to find who it was.

He hadn't been to far off from her position; she had been forced to track back a handful of yards in order to locate the Reaper's quiet observational point, her movements hesitant and stitched with a morbid curiosity as to what he meant by silently watching her. Surely it had something to do with the knives she had hurled at him at the meeting; whether he meant to kill her or simply come to a peaceable agreement was the murky unknown that made her approach so tentatively, her warrior's sense preparing her for the worst as her muscles tensed and prepared for a quick escape if necessary. Ulrik had assured her that it had not been the black devil who had caused Psyche's descent from power, rather himself, but she was not such a fool as to believe him whole-heartedly - the former general had been present, so agreed all who rose their voices on his behalf, and that was enough to leave the distrustful wench in a state of caution. It was not beyond her to kill for her own means, even those of her own species and herd, and while she could not pinpoint a way in which her death would benefit the man, she also knew that some did not need a reason beyond ending the throbbing of their prey's heart.

Ears raised and eyes dubious of his intent, she arrived before the ebony stallion and felt the same simmering sensation of fear rise in her belly. No, not fear; discomfort, an inborn sense to know when something was dangerous and wrong firing off as soon as he fell in her sights. She had heard rumors of the man's ability to kill with a single touch, and while she had not witnessed the magic in play herself, she knew better than to doubt her companions when they spoke of one another's prowess. The stoic state of the man didn't help ease her hesitations; chatty and "friendly" herself, she was deeply distrusting of any who held their words so closely to themselves, and that such a silent man had come to a position of leadership made her all the more uneasy. Still, she attempted to present herself to him in as best a light as possible, her crown raised high and tail raised to send her exuberantly long tail trailing through the air behind her, a facade of fearlessness that was belied by the dark glimmer in her eyes.

"Lord Deimos," she called out to him as she came within earshot, a delicate bob of her beautifully crafted face tossed in his direction as she drew her forward motions to a halt. Unsure of what to say past that point, she paused to look long at his figure, the deadly grace that comprised the man, attempting to usher in her own form of silent strength. In all honesty, before the meeting had happened, she had looked up to the powerful stallion and his many achievements; but women were fickle, and this man had been present while her best friend had been dethroned and she could not shake her suspicions that he had played a more important role than others had let on. Still, Ulrik and her run had quelled much of her distaste for him, and as she stood and looked upon the black unicorn, a trickle of her former respect drizzled over her disgust; but not enough to make her feel as if she owed him any sort of apology for calling him out on the underhandedness of the ordeal. In her moments of clarity since the events, she had decided that if he had approached her before the meeting had been called to inform her of the events, she would have reacted less violently, with less distrust; instead, she had expected her beloved Empress and been presented with a man who she didn't believe she could ever grow to love even before his rise to lead.

How could he blame her for her reaction, then? Perhaps because we are strangers, he and I, she mused, deciding at that moment that this would change here and now...as soon as she figured out how to broach the subject without offending either one of their egos further.

There was a river once,
with many round stones
enchanted by shallow hopes
of embracing the ocean;
water is peculiar this way,
how its life is a line
that cannot bend or change
without the approval of its bed.