Ulrik, she said in her mind, having seen the mechanical wolf's gleam on the horizon not far from where she was making her rounds not long before she spotted his dark frame. Picking up her pace to catch up with the man of the wilderness, her features portrayed all that needed to be known of her thoughts at that moment; her mouth was grim, eyes heavy and laced with a sadness that had filled her since her panicked realization that her friend had abandoned her to the wolves she had once led. She had inquiries of the machinist, this was to be sure, but her heart was not bitter or resentful towards the bronze patterned stallion for having caused the eruption of change that had swept across her at the meeting; she merely wondered why she had managed to remain so oblivious to the faults that Psyche had been accused of, the far from introverted mare unaware of how deeply her emotions had swayed her loyalties and loathe to ponder on such things, despite the way that her thoughts endlessly rushed within her mind.

The only annoyance she had with the stag was his ability to fill her with endless curiosity and then vanish as soon as he had incited her fervent need to know.

He came to a stop before the entryway, a similar scene to the one in which she had first met him rising to greet her eager eyes, though in this one, the man was not covered in snow and staring sorrowfully at the metal at his hooves. This time, the gleaming objects were arranged in a peculiar shape, wide and tall; she supposed it was a doorway of sorts, arousing her curiosities so fully that she instantly forgot her inquiries as to the departure of the Empress. In traditional Illynx fashion, her feminine nicker bounded from her muzzle in greeting of the deranged crafter, knowing all too well the peculiarities of her kin, their easily aroused anger, and she did not know Ulrik well enough to know if he was the sort to react violently to intrusion.

Their first meeting suggested not, but the currently depressed woman understood all to well how dampened emotions could change one's character from lioness to mewling kitten. Drawing to a halt alongside the Engineer, she gazed long and thoughtfully at the arrangement he had set in from of their gates; as she did with most of the herd's companions, Kirchoff was ignored unless he made himself obviously desirous of her attentions. "Are you planning something?" she questioned after a lengthy pause of study (and partial admiration of the gleam of the metal spread at his feet), golden eyes rising with a curious sparkle that barely managed to cover the black hole that had steadily been growing in heart without Psyche at horn's reach. She was glad to see the man in full spirits, his intelligent features having been lost in contemplation upon her arrival, and it warmed her to know that he had not been stripped of his power by some divine force as he had feared the last they had spoken. It was hard not think of the man often, despite his absence from their general herd activities; every time she gazed upon the blue vial hidden in the stones of her residence, his face rose unbidden in her memories and she was forced to smile despite her foul mood.

He had been so awkward. She herself could not understand such emotions, as she was quite fearless and full of an undying self love that blotted out most doorways into the realm of companionship, the bitch more the type to utilize a person for what they were worth to her before dumping them off of whatever proverbial cliff she had to. "It's quite large, whatever it is. A gate perhaps?" She saw the usefulness of such a thing, but her mouth instantly drew itself into a frown as she realized that it would be quite an eyesore against the brilliance of the world along the path that carried travelers to and from the hidden valley; never one to place usefulness over appearances, she found the notion quite offensive, her ire at the image that had met her thoughts leaking into her words despite her attempts to cover them with honest curiosity.

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.