The narrow land bridge connecting the mountains to the rest of Helovia stretched ahead of her, tempting her to wander further out from the reaches of the cold. The sea whispered against the shore to her right, it wind warm and salty as it buffeted her dark locks about her crown. The scent of the ocean was pleasant; it had been many seasons since she had stopped to enjoy its exotic odors and sounds, so different from the quiet and pine laden atmosphere of the Basin. Perhaps it was because the sea reminded her of the home she had lost, the edge of the world falling into dark and ever moving waters, her Goddess high overhead.

Was she truly her Goddess anymore? The Moon had forsaken her and her kin of the mountain, that was to be sure, twice now awarding the hornless filth that scuttled about suckling Mirage's tits over those who truly deserved her honor. But, she felt no great love for the God of Time, either; she had not been raised on tales of his splendor, and while he had led them to the mountain and had yet to truly fail them, he had never earned much admiration of the picky woman. Sure, she wore his pendant about her gracefully curved neck, nestled in her sweeping and straight black locks, but he was a stranger to her in ways that Mother Moon had never been. It was liable she was only bitter and full of resentments towards the divine of her birth land, but even as she looked up at the pale crescent suspended in the realm of stars, her heart longed to know her compassion once again, desired to run her muzzle along the curvature of her strange monument along the edge of the cliffs, that very statue that was but a dark line in the horizon from where she stood jutting out from the breast of the World's Edge over the dark waters.

For a long while she stared out over the white-capped field of darkness, the pinpricks of stars flickering on it's choppy surface and the mimic of the Moon dancing with every gust of summer heated wind, her golden eyes focused on that shadowy figure that she knew to be the place where the Goddess would come to speak with the blasphemers, the over-sized birds and their land-bound and ordinary cousins so unworthy of her love. Her mouth was grim, face full of a contemplation that would fade as soon as there was someone to see it; the mare had never been much for dragging those worthy of her amusement down into her pits of shadow, which only seemed to deepen the older she grew rather than taking the steady climb upwards that she had hoped for so long ago.

The Lady knew now that dreams were for fools. The world was as it was, cruel and vindictive, full of danger and savagery, and so she had decided not long after the untimely murders of her parents that she too would be equally as unforgiving and unkind. It had suited her well for many years, a cold facade of stone and ice, but the heat that purred within her belly had sent cracks throughout the veneer and she now found that such a life was lonely. Nearly ten years old, she had only a single friend and myriad acquaintances, though she was sure many others may be fond of her for whatever peculiar reason - it was not for her love of them, that was to be sure. Yes, there was Ruka - the dark red stallion alluring in his wisdom, his compassion for the woman who had found him in the Threshold and seen only his horn, but even he was scant to be seen since she had erupted on him after his failure to face the Edge in battle.

Alone, she felt the steam rise from the growing rifts in her armor, rising like hands in prayer towards the only mother she had left, her sire the lonesome croon of wind shattering against the tall, nearly branch-less pines that lay this far in towards the mainland.

@[Ciceron]

Your heart is what is said to drive you forward in life propelling you to whatever it was you were destined for, for you to become who you were meant to be. Yet why did the emptiness exist that pulled at your very soul nagging you that there was something more, something greater than life itself. It was not the beat of the heart that drove him but rather the persistent nagging in his mind that told him he needed to search for something. Something was the problem as there was no telling what this something actually was, could it be another land, another world, another soul or perhaps it was nothing at all. Surely life had to mean something more than to be an endless hole of uncertainty and forbidden desires. Months earlier he had found himself standing with his family, his herd but he had given it all up for whatever ailed him. Maybe it was insanity that caused him to leave his mother and father behind in pursuit of happiness or something else entirely. He could not give up hope that maybe he would find his something to complete his soul so that it may rest in peace, so until death took him from this world he would continue his journey.

The salty scent of the ocean reached his nares as he took a deep breath filling his lungs to capacity before releasing the poisoned air from his body. The crashing waves below him sounded much like the wind within the mountains in which he had been accustomed to earlier in his life, it was rather comforting in a strange sense. Silver eyes scanned the horizon for which path would be next in his adventure as there was much to this land that remained unseen. The Foothills had been his first stop here in Helovia after he had arrived and it was here that he had found a place to call home, well at least for a little while. There was no real connection tying him down to one place over another but it was nice to have something consistent in your life that offered safety and support. The other herd members had been very welcoming and he had found it easy to adjust to the way things operated. He could count on his new friends to hold his back, well he hoped that he could should there ever be a problem as he would do the same for them. His travels had brought him to this new territory of unexplored opportunities.

The cold wind stung his eyes briefly in the beginning but it hadn't taken long to adjust to the climate here with the moon high overhead. Raising his head as a figure appeared up ahead he stopped momentarily to access the situation before continuing his walk in the mares direction. As he got closer he found that she was of similar species to that of his own not that it really mattered to him, everyone was equal in his opinion. The fae seemed to be lost in thought staring out over the wide expanse before her, he wondered what had her so transfixed to this spot. Stopping a number of feet away he minded his distance not wanting to startle the mare he called out to her making his presence known. Her coat was much darker than that of his own allowing her to blend into the darkness where as his grey coat and silver markings stood out against the darkness while the glow of his marks lit the small area around him. It served well for seeing in the dark where others could not but it was rather hard to hide if he was trying to remain concealed. Dipping his head to the wind he stood silently awaiting a response from the mare as to his next actions.


TAGS: @[Illynx]
MUSE: Good
NOTES: Would you like me to continue tagging you in posts?

The young stallion that approached her was beautiful, and her in tragic state she found the elegance of the boy to be so emotionally touching that it was almost painful to look upon his splendor. How could her kin exhibit so many traits of venerable excellence? The wind tosses her straight dark hair around her face as her eyes lift and turn to gaze upon his approach, the sharp pang of sadness she couldn’t comprehend gnawing at the base of her golden orbs.

Why could she not love them, these earthbound angels?

Because, unlike Ciceron, she had never been surrounded with unconditional love; she had never had someone to hold and placate the tumultuous raging of her soul, and left alone to discover her path, she had become quite lost and full of anger. She was beginning to understand this of herself, that her loneliness could not be blamed on a single soul but her own; hatred is hard to release though, once it has festered and swelled in your heart for so many years. Surely it did not dampen her belief that she and the horned beings of the world were meant to hold it’s splendor for themselves – but it did make her much less volatile toward the myriad strangers that trickled into her life in a steady stream of faces, so long as those faces wore horns.

His friendly whicker of greeting received no immediate response from the desolate bitch, who stared quite blankly in his direction, having quickly concealed her sorrow as soon as she confirmed that she didn’t know him at all. She had a certain level of respect to uphold, after all, and it wouldn’t do well to inform the enemy that there was confusion upon the mountain; not when she knew they observed them from a distance, prowling like lions waiting for the chance to lunge at an exposed throat.

She blinked slowly to decipher if he was truly glowing or if through some mishap she had allowed her eyes to brim with tears in her temporary emotional distress at the mere sight of his beauty. Finding that he indeed lit up the air around him like her Mother Moon, her interest slid from that of her own dreadful thoughts to a potential conversation; if nothing else, it would distract her from herself.

"Evening," she said to the starlight stag, her smile faint as it tugged the corner of her lips, the mask placed back over her face as it had been her entire life. Proud, her delicately crafted crown was raised to it’s peak, ears lifted to catch his reply over the brine-laced wind of the sea. "From where to you come this late in the night?" inquired the golden mare, having taken note of the moon’s position not too long before and finding it well past the middle mark of the Goddess’s nightly trek.

@[Ciceron]
[ OOC: You don't have to tag me unless you track threads this way yourself. Would you like to also remain tagged in my posts? Forgot to ask last one. x3 ]

As the stag stood awaiting a response he allowed his peripherals to expand outwards to take in the scenery as a whole. Things were much different up this far into the mountains with the thick coat of ice and snow clinging to the upper peaks. His home consisted of much greater beauty with the green hills and the rolling valleys that bore on for as far as one could see. Even with the cooler temperatures of the seasonal change it still held on to its magnificent wonder just in a different light. This place if one looked beyond the snow and cold could easily hold true breathtaking sights as well if one knew where to look that was. So far all he had seen was the depths of the inclines and the rather intimidating drops into absolute darkness. If this was all there was to this place he would gladly take his home over this side of Helovia.

The femme before him was a rather unique specimen herself with the richness of her bay coat marked with the brilliant exhibits of flashy gold throughout. Accenting her entire appearance were the dipped portions of her legs and the golden horn upon her head that marked her as the same species as himself. All of this combined made for a rather striking appearance that appealed to his visual observations. Despite the beauty ones appearance could hold nothing could ever predict the beast inside the being. This was something that had to be approached with caution unless you wished to wind up skewered or sliced and diced whichever suited your fancy. He for one did not plan on leaving with any less of his body than what he had come here with so he stood his respective ground giving the mare her space.

Her lyrics came as smooth as silk with what seemed like a friendly expression if you judged based only on the smile. Nothing told him otherwise so he continued along with his own easygoing calm attitude which he found most natural. "Good Evening my name is Ciceron." He replied with a faint dip of his head to start off with since formal introductions had yet to be made. " Merely wandering with no real purpose or intentions other than to get to know the land in more detail. My home is that of the Foothills for the time being but I tend to prefer to continue to explore when I can." Her home was elsewhere in this land but he could not place her scent, perhaps it was a place he had yet to visit. Maybe she would care to satisfy his curiosity.

"Where is it that you call home, if I may ask? What brings you out here at this time of day, just a stroll?" Tilting his head slightly he regarded the mare with curiosity hoping she might continue their conversation rather than allowing it to fall silent. Not too many chose to be out at hours this late, maybe there was a purpose to her actions? It was simply a harmless question that just happened to be one of the first ones to pop into his mind, surely there were many others but those would come in time depending on the direction things went. Swishing his tail up over his hindquarters lazily he waited to see what the night may bring next. Perhaps a new friend or would things just remain as simple acquaintances when they went their own separate ways? Only time would tell.

Ciceron, he was called, and it was name she found most pleasing in comparison to the odd things folks were titled across Helovia. Nodding in recognition of his words, it mirrored the movement which he had just shared with her – melting some of the dismal layers of ice from her heart and allowing a faint glimmer of truth to reside behind her falsified friendliness. Such ironic occurrences were humorous to the woman – why, she could not know.

"Illynx," she obliged, though she kept her other titles to herself. Normally not so clever and overly boastful, life had been teaching her lesson upon hard earned lesson, and she figured it would be best to test the waters. If he didn’t know who she really was, perhaps that would be for the better of both of them, at least on this evening.

The Edge’s statue in patronage of their stolen Goddess still hung on the fringes of her vision, and it drew her eyes whenever she let her mind slip away from the present company she found herself in.

The stallion was of the Foothills; she nodded vaguely and pondered on the relationship between their two herds. They were supposed to be allies – and yet no second coming of their leaders had proven the strength of that bond.

She had doubted the treaty to begin with. It would not be too offensive to the woman if they turned cloaks on them. After all – they didn’t share the same goals, or the same appearances. What did they truly have to rely on one another for?

She would have found some other direction to carry the conversation if he had not asked her where she was from. Hoping her name and location would not be enough to alert the man to her status, she begrudgingly forfeited her residence. "The Aurora Basin, hidden in those mountains behind us," she gestured vaguely in the general direction of the hundreds of peaks standing like fists of indignation in the star littered sky.

Let him try to figure out which one.

"I am quite close to home in comparison to you," she stated softly, deciding to the spin the conversation around in such a way that it favored her desires better, "do many of the Foothills often wander so far from their hillocks?"

@[Ciceron]
Sorry for the wait! I've got quite a few threads going on at the moment. x3

As the fae before him spoke freely her title he was grateful to have met someone who did not hide behind false names. Though he did not know of the mare in prior times so in all reality it was a possibility but he had a feeling that she spoke the truth. His mother had taught him long ago not to judge others before there was a good reason to believe it yet his father was of opposite personality seeming only to trust those who proved their words as the truth. As a result there had been many confusing thoughts to his young mind but in the end experience served to guide his belief to side with his mother majority of the time.

Illynx, he mused silently to himself tasting the name upon his tongue. It was a rather unusual name but as he had come to know this land held many with unusual names. Maybe a meaning in another language perhaps guided the choice of entitlement? The mention of the Aurora Basin triggered a brief recollection of hearing of the place from someone or another but its true significance meant nothing to him for he knew only of the name not the land itself. Was it one of the places that held peace with the Foothills or were they considered enemies? Racking his brain did him no good so for now he let the thought slide mentally noting to find out the answer at some point of another. Following the mares gesture he gazed upon the mighty mountains laid out behind them, natural barriers concealing the land from harm. It would make a good defence if you could even find the place in the first place. Perhaps Merou might know more about this land, he was a spirit maybe he could provide some insight.

The bear cub had chosen to linger behind on this journey to tend to other things. What things could a spirit have to tend to anyways? He enjoyed the company of his temporary companion but already any time they were apart he felt the lingering absence. Was this gift actually a gift or was it just a curse in disguise, surely anyone would grow attached to the little cub just as he had but to have him taken away? That was in a way torture. Illynx's question was a welcome distraction to the thoughts so he instead focused on their conversation once again. " The hills serve us well and many to tend to stay within the protection of the borders but I cannot simply stay in one place. Too much is out there to discover. Do you not wish to see more of this place we call home rather than just stay confined within the borders?"

Pausing for a moment he was curious as to what conjured the question but before putting too much thought into it he simply passed it off as a continuation of their chat. " With that said my allegiance still stands with the Foothills, if they are in trouble I would not hesitate to return immediately to do what I may to help." He added so no misconceptions would be drawn from his statement. Everyone there was in a way his family, not by blood but by his word when he had agreed to join their ranks. He needed to feel some connection somewhere or else he would just be lost to the wind. His herd was what kept him grounded and feeling optimistic that someday he would find what his heart desired.

She savored the moments in which he swallowed her being, the focal point of a mortal mind and the ambrosia of her entire existence; as often as she claimed to reside outside the confines of other’s opinions of her, the mare was very indebted to those who spared her their company and focus.

At least, her ego was.

Unfortunately, such primal urges rarely take heed of things that they owe their existence to, and so she is oblivious to the purring of her soul as his eyes gently stroke her figure, as his mind replays the sound of her name in his head. If fate would let her, the world would know her name and her face; the world would bend its knee to worship her, Queen of the Mortals, second only to the Gods and Goddess who ruled the realm with their iron grace.

Though she was currently in an emotional state far beyond the reaches of such dreams, it still lingered in her heart. She would die desiring more than she held, or could ever hold. Illynx was incredibly simple in such areas – what she would do when she had it all, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted it more deeply than anything she had ever lusted for in her short life. Perhaps this was why the failing of her first leadership worthy ventures had left her in such a dismal state, dwelling so heavily on the shadows that flickered about the golden apples of her life.

The floral etched stag explains that he is one of the few who travels so, and she finds a kinship between their souls in this. But for the weight of her crown and the responsibility she felt in regards to the Plague and their mountain base, she would move tirelessly about the world, seeing and learning all that could be had. If she had never met Psyche, she would not be here – and she knows this. In some ways, this stallion was a better person than she was. He remained in Helovia, true to his family, while a year ago, she had left even Loorien behind her in travels far outside the borders.

It had taught her much of herself, and given her peace with much that had come to pass in her life beforehand; but it had left her with an unsettling feeling that she had abandoned something important. In the aftermath of all the turmoil in the political aspects of the herd, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might have helped Psyche hold her rank for longer if only she had never left.

It was water under the bridge; she had no bucket or dam to hold it back.

Why must it press against her soul so hard?

"As it should be," she says perhaps too sharply, "they provide you sustenance and a place to rest when you are weary of wandering." Perhaps the man is right; confines are oppressive, what with the whole world out there. But having been born in Helovia, she has already seen all that the land can offer her. She finds that even the long journeys to the far end of the continent do not bring her pleasure as they used to.

This man cannot understand such things. She will not bother attempting to explain much beyond her initial admission that she felt no such desire any longer; the only excitement she had left was the final journey of death, whatever crooked bends her life would take from this point forward.

There was nothing new to be discovered beyond lessons she had not been blessed with.

"I was born here, in Helovia. I have seen her from top to bottom," she smiles, though her heart aches at the thought that she has lived long enough to steal away the allure of the unknown. Perhaps there will be more things discovered, places that she may venture and come to know – but only the future can bring such things, surely not this stallion or his small ventures. "I am much older than you, though. The drive of youth keeps one ever wandering."

Then what keeps me going? she thinks, unable to find the answer.

Perhaps the responsibilities of being old.

Her land was much different than that which Ciceron lived in, or any of the other herds of Helovia, for that matter, for it was comprised of many dark souls who sought only things for themselves. She was learning this, that she was not alone in her quest for dominion, and that it was surprising to her was perhaps the most stunning of all revelations. How could she have been so blind as to not see it?

And now that it was there, obvious and ugly, its stain couldn’t be rubbed out. She had never found family among those she lived with, aside from Psyche, and while she had not desired their love, the tarnish that they would not give it even if she attempted to earn it was disconcerting. To her, the Basin would always be her home – a place she loved quietly, to herself. It surely was not the presence of others that made it worth her time.

It was not as if she had given up, either. She was just wallowing in her pit of depressing emotions and selfish desires, up to her ears in negativity that she perpetuated for some unknown reason to her. One day, the draw of exploration would pull her out again, if she ever found the time. But how could she explain these things to this stranger? This beautiful man tossed from a dream onto the tundra, his hopeful replies to her dismal words only stirring the deep set ache in her chest once more.

Perhaps he was right, a companion would make her time less tedious and hurtful. But, the only person she desired to walk with had been banished from the mountain by men that she personally felt had no rights to do so; her only friend was wandering the wilderness, alone. The only things that kept her from following her out the gate was a prying sense of responsibility that had wedged its way into Illynx’s brain, and the dark fear that the Empress had abandoned her.

She did not like to think of the latter for too long. It made the pressing prickle of tears ebb and flow from the corner of her eyes, and she did not wish to weep so often over things she could not change.

If only this man could tell her she had not been abandoned, that her dearest was simply overwhelmed by the world as she was herself. But Ciceron did not know these things. From his cheerful conversation about the bright linings of the world, she doubted he could even comprehend how she felt at this moment. It made her want to sigh, throw her face into the cold snow at her hooves, and rest away the remainder of her life, despite the burning coals of her pride.

"Perhaps," is all she says, a sad collection of notes that dissipate on the frigid air. She gazes long and out across the water, the dark outline of the Moon’s statue holding her eyes for a good moment, her frown deepening with each passing second until she can bare it no longer.

"What would you have in a queen?" she asks suddenly, turning her face quickly and with a fervent stare in the direction of Ciceron once more, her heart fluttering in the hope that he can tell her what it is she must do to earn the love of those she ruled, "For her to earn the right to your servitude and respect, what must she do? Who must she be?"

@[Ciceron]

There was much emotion behind the golden eyes that swirled around changing many times within the realm of their brief conversation. What was it, sadness? despair? It was hard to tell which of the many possibilities but he was willing to bet it was not a joyous emotion that tended to consume its beholder. Something was going on in this girls life causing her much turmoil and doubt while leaving a relatively dark cloud hanging upon her head. Much of the complete despair he had yet to experience so unfortunately he could not relate to her situation but he knew pain. It grew from a tiny seedling and if you gave it leeway it would eventually wind its way through your entire soul. He had heard it described as a killer vine that leached upon its victims drawing life away little by little.

What would he be like when Merou was taken from him he wondered silently as the image of the cub came into mind. Would it be enough to send him into this despair? Or would there be something or someone to make him see light at the end of the tunnel. If his luck played to par there would be nothing to keep him safe from the internal parasite. Maybe harboring Merou away would keep him safe for longer? Would it be enough to hold onto his only friend or would life continue to go on taking with it the one piece of sanity managing his inner thoughts? Despite his emotional battle trying to figure out an impossible situation he knew that if Merou wanted to go then he could not stop him nor would he try. He could not hold on while his friend wanted something different, what kind of friend would that make him.

Dragging him back to the present yet again was the voice of the saddened mare with a rather unexpected question of her own. Raising his eyes to meet hers feeling rather confused he tried to think about what she was asking of him. How had they even gotten here in the first place!? He had been speaking of a companion to lighten the passing days of endless travel yet somehow the question of what he would chose as a queen came forward. Come to think about it he never really thought too much on the subject at hand. Maybe he was expecting fate to decide for him who would be his queen someday? Wasn't there supposed to be some crossing of paths and the right person would make themselves known or something like that? Maybe he was just a hopeless romantic all along and never knew it.

No there was things that would guide him, what did he value most in another? After much thought he returned his gaze to Illynx feeling as if he were being judged on his answer or something. "Well if I was to ever find my queen there is no real definitive answer. I do not know who or where they are in this lifetime nor do I know the exact traits. In my heart I would have to feel some connection to tell me this was the right person. I could not imagine being with a queen who harbored darkness as their ally but rather someone who viewed the world for what it is." Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts he continued. "My queen would be someone who can love me, show me loyalty but still be their own self to make their own decisions."

It was not easy to describe what you felt in your heart, there were certain things that could never be explained with words. Indescribable feelings and emotions seemed to pop up with each attempt stalling his thoughts, it was something you could feel not describe. "It is hard to describe with words when you have yet to find the one you are describing. What is it you would have as your King?" Her response would be interesting to hear as he had never asked what it was most tended to look for in a King. Would he ever be able to live up to any of these things? Or would it prove him at a loss before he even started?

He’d drifted away after her query, a promising motion that raised her ears to his movements and her anxiously quivering gaze upon the subtle changes in his features as the thoughts washed through him. She hoped, as she watched him ponder his reply, that he would supply her the answers she needed, the ones that would tell her the path to take as a leader that would earn her the love of her herd, even if she could not yet return their affections.

But he misunderstood her.

She barely refrains from frowning in response, though it is quickly reversed into a quirky smile that finds she rather likes this conversation, as well. Most soldiers were men after all.

She finds herself withdrawn as soon as he mentions his distaste for darkness, the bitch herself quite fond of letting loose the beast that snarled and scratched within herself and howled at the blank, moonless sky. She would not want such a man as to cage himself, that is to be sure. Her lover will be free and wild as the storm, his vengeance a white hot streak of light and his word the solemn command of the thunder, and his hooves will ever drip red with the blood of the weak and unworthy.

Even as upset as she is, she knows Ciceron does not need to know this. She is playing a game here, after all – and as far as the stone and flower stag is concerned, she is only sad and lonesome Illynx, a woman who stares across the sea as if she wishes to drown in its arms rather than look at a home she cannot have with yet another at her back.

He regains her attention as soon as he speaks of one’s ability to think independently. This she can do, and she does it well – and as young as she is, the mare is only truly beginning to understand just how deep into the wicked well she can slip, how deep and high the walls she has guarded herself with are.

As she had come to expect after asking questions with philosophical answers, it was returned to her, drawing her into a different focus of thought. Her mouth becomes a soft frown as she ponders it, not sure entirely what it is she wants either; she knows she desires someone strong, and clever, but what beyond that? The mare is far too vain to inspect others so closely, and has never truly considered the idea of a relationship past her friendship with the Empress.

"My Lord is a man of ice and stone, his heart a ball of flame so intense that he is liable to rupture at any moment," she is watching the sea again, but her eyes are not so sad as she paints the aura of her desires with sweetly feminine words, "none stand in his path. He does not have to enforce this. His very presence inspires their respect and obedience, for his strength is outweighed only by his wit." She pauses, looking back at the silver bloomed stallion with a soft mistiness in her eyes that is quite unusual to behold for those who know her well enough. "But… most importantly. He will never leave me to be alone."

Like Psyche, she mourns, a glistening bead rising in the corner of her eye despite her battle to restrain it. Quickly, she looks back out over the water, biting her tongue savagely as she does so to pin the emotional agony under the physical pangs of the new bruise and bleeding taste buds.

"But you misunderstood my question," she corrects for her own benefit, the quick change of subjects dropping the ball back into her court and allowing her to compose herself once more, "I was asking of a leader, like your Apollo." When her eyes return to the stallion, they are free of any hint of the sadness that had engulfed them before but for the same heavy shadow that loitered despite her attempts to chase it.

It had been awhile since he had thought much about what qualities he looked for in someone who either was a queen or a king. His experience was rather lacking as he only had a couple experiences to draw from. His father had been a leader at one point or so he was told but how does one know this for sure unless it is proven knowledge. Their herd leader had been strong, respected, brave and everything else that suited their herd at the time but not many knew of what lay beneath the surface hidden from the prying eyes. He had seen the lust leech into his eyes with each new season followed by lengthy absences where he was going about the land tending to things as he called it. Anyone with half a mind could see that he was not exactly tending to the land but rather the faes who happened to be wandering around high in their estrus. If it was not for his father's guiding hoof he might have ended up just like him driven crazy by simple temptations leaving him unable to control himself. A barbarian, a player, a disgusting brute. Certainly not someone respectable or trustworthy.

Could there ever really be an ideal leader with ideal traits or characteristics when so much lay hidden behind locked doors? Basically it came down to what could one live with, if you could feel safe in your home was that enough to make you blind to the other negativities? As he listened to the mare speak he tried to picture what such a stag would be like. Was icy kindness a way of shutting others out or did it mean more than that or in fact the complete opposite. Was complete control the way to earn respect from others through the force of fear and iron rule? It was a touchy aspect that many chose to base their strategies off of but it was not the way he imagined a herd being ruled. There was a time and place for everything, using too much coldness would drive those away who feared action while drawing those who craved power. He did admit that everyone had their version of darkness within their soul even himself but he did his best to reign it in.

Loneliness was indeed a huge driving factor in ones decision to lean one way or the other. Darkness felt inclined to be less likely to follow through with promises in his opinion but he couldn't judge. Feeling a pang of sympathy for the golden toned mare he stepped forward beside her and gently nudged her shoulder. He knew what it felt like to feel lonely and he was not blind to the pain masked behind her smile. "No one should have to feel alone." He commented softly gazing out over the sea that drew the mares attention as well.

" A leader should be respected, but not necessarily by fear. Respect comes in many forms but if you prove yourself by actions you find many more will rise up with you to have your back in times of need creating obedience. " Pausing a couple moments to regather his thoughts he continued. "A leader must be trustworthy, noble and compassionate to the needs of others. At least those are things that I would look for, Apollo meets pretty much all of these in my eyes which is why many stand behind him. Together they all create a family that will not leave you behind or let you become lonely." Finishing his little speech his eyes drew back to the golden's wondering what all thoughts ran through her mind.

Ice was control; it is a cold, thin veneer that holds in the true flame of the spirit and keeps its tender glow from prying eyes. It is a wall that only the worthy can melt, and even then, they are provided only a window, a small space through which to view the internal workings of the being. Ice provided Illynx everything she did not have on her own; she was not overly secretive, more the type to chit chat and spill little tidbits of information here and there in her exuberance, or reveal it all through a violent and savage assault upon the unsuspecting. The chilled mental image that she supplemented herself with let her be a queen as she would have one; calm, collected, a voice of reason, though that was not to say her layer of frozen cover hadn’t cracked a time or two. Ice was Illynx’s femininity, the subtle curve of her body and the way she could flutter her lashes just right, the delicate arrangement of each note of her sweet voice to lure the unsuspecting into her claws.

The mare is not a good one. If only Ciceron could see this; he would have left her to her loneliness long ago.

His gentle touch to her shoulder makes her skin tighten and seemingly crawl away from the location he has laid his lips upon. She is not the sort to openly caress others unless she thinks it will earn her something, or if she has managed to feel a sort of kinship with the creature who reaches to stroke her pelt. Of those she has willingly touched, most were contacted with a means of violence, either to teach the skills of the battle or to create another rising peak in the song of her soul as she crushed the unworthy beneath her, and few were those who she loved in enough volume to openly embrace them.

She thinks of Psyche, and her heart burns.

She thinks of Ulrik, and she feels only a partial warming of herself, paired with a violent snarl that blames him for the loss of her friend, though surely less than she blames Deimos.

Still, she does not physically shift away from his kind gesture. She knows that he means well, and no offense; so far, their conversation has revealed much of the silver stag’s character, and she finds that the pair of them make a lion entertaining the beautiful fluttering of a butterfly about it’s head. When would she raise her paw to swat the insect away? When would the colors of his imaginary wings cease to be splendid enough to hold her here?

”No one should have to be alone,” he says, and simultaneously sadness strokes its black brush across her heart with the vengeful roar of her logical brain that rebukes this statement.

I had thought that once, she thinks, I was once young and full of light as you.

She turns her golden eyes to look at him, so solemnly observing her inner pain with the stoicism of a trained knight. Are all her people so wise, so understanding, so long as they do not live on the mountain, in the shadow of their black cloaks?

The world would have all of us be alone, Ciceron. How can I explain this to you? Your heart is nothing but starlight. Let me bask in it for a while longer. Let my heart accept it. Just this once…

He is watching the sea, and she returns her eyes to their focal point of the strange shape that blots the horizon, the statue to the Goddess that she fears will never be hers to love, no matter the depth of her desire. Blooming to the east, the first faint lightening of the sky from indigo to royal blue has begun, and she looks to the fall of the Moon with a sensation that can best be described as hopelessness.

Ciceron leads his words into the question she had asked, sparing her the painful response that was so slow to come to her tongue. Despite her usually dark demeanor, there is something so sweet and genuine about the flower laced stallion, and it reminds her of the filly she had been so long ago. Could this be her, if the others had not abandoned her for the sins of her parents? Could she be the one consoling a lost soul, so coated in abysmal shadow, answering questions that the being in question should already know?

It was odd, how she had been able to assist Psyche at every branch of her Ladyship, and now found herself floundering in the shallows. The real shit hadn’t even hit the fan yet – and she was already failing. If only she knew what wickedness lay around the corner for them all. Maybe she would break Ciceron’s heart, here and now. Lay to rest his illusions on unity and warmth, that life is a beautiful flower that never withers, a service to protect his tender heart from the sharp knives that would assault it in the months to come.

But she only listens. She lets her hard earned knowledge rest within her. Perhaps… she was taught wrong.

Trustworthy, noble, compassionate, each word is a needle that plunges into her already desperate heart. She is none of these things; she could only pretend to be any of them. While she is capable of action, the first on the list of the defined traits, she cannot complete any of the others as she is now.

It feels as if her lungs are deflating, her tongue worked like gum between her molars, it’s flavor no mint but the metallic tang of blood.

"How… how does one become these things?" meekly asks the woman, not truly expecting a valid answer. It wasn’t an easy question. Why couldn’t she be curios as to the hour in which the sun rose in the forth week of winter, or what type of flowers grew along the Cliffside of the Edge? Those were queries which could be answered in absolution, answers which would span across all fields and hold true to whomever beheld them. For all she knew, this leader that Ciceron described would be more fragile than even the precarious situation in which she found herself now; her people were not Ciceron’s, they were not the coven of the Merciful. They were the horned children of the Plague, their only mother supremacy and power, and she had seen each leader fall like dominos after the other.

She wished to be the wall they rested against.

I don’t want to fall, too.

[ OOC: Rambling Illynx rambles. We have written you a novella! hahahaha ]

Partial relief is granted when the golden fae does not pull away from his gentle touch, it could have definitely gone much worse. Though it was accepted he did not feel it had exactly the comforting reaction he had originally hoped to achieve. He could relate on some levels with the mare but there was much hidden beneath the surface that had not even been touched upon. The soul was much more complex than a simple emotion here and there thrown in with the odd personality trait, it was rather like a never ending vortex that was always adapting, changing and feeling. One could know you for years but never reach the entire extent of your being, there was always things hidden away so deep that even you have trouble accessing them.

Staring off into the abyss before them he wondered what all was beyond the reaches of those who traveled by land. Was there entire worlds out there that were yet to be discovered by land lubbers such as himself? Surely things existed beyond reach at this moment in time, but who is to say that in the future they will still remain unreachable? Time changes all whether we want it to or not, a lesson he had learned very early on in his childhood. Some remained naive to the passage of time always hoping for a better tomorrow while others accepted its existence and just went along for the ride to see where they will end up when the train finally crashes into the great unknown.

All this talk about leaders and traits one must have in order to be a successful ruler buzzed around his head barely making sense at the best of times. No one could be everything at once so it was hard to see what kind of personality would go along with someone deemed worthy. Perhaps someone who is bold and aggressive suited the task but then what of those who ruled with a lighter fist using respect and understanding as opposed to aggression? Both could be just as successful but how could total opposites achieve the same optimal result with the theory that one is always better than the other? Some preferred what could be considered light over dark but was either really better than the other? It was all how the mind of each individual works that would ultimately decide the choice but could there be a middle ground as well?

"How… how does one become these things?" His inside ear turns to catch the vocals of the femme without taking his eyes off the horizon. After a moment of consideration he turns his cranium to catch the elegant figure of Illynx beside him. Despite the slight difference in age both of them seemed to harbor similar questions that remained elusive to any set answer. Maybe there was no answer to be found and it was just the workings of the mind imagining things where there are none. " I don't know if these traits are ones that certain individuals are born with but I know they can be developed. Nobility is not something taught through lessons but rather something that needs to be earned through the deeds one chooses to do." Trailing off for a moment he played with the image he had within his mind trying to figure out how to explain it using words.

" Some say if we open our hearts and listen with our souls we can learn much of what we will need in life. Compassion stems from the same idea to my understanding, to know our own needs is one thing but to learn to see the needs of others is much more difficult. Try putting yourself in someone else hooves, how do they see things, what do they care about? A logical guess is about the best any of us can hope to achieve at best. Open your mind to change and don't try to fight it let it embrace you." His voice is calm as he tries to find words fitting but at the same time ones that make sense. He had always tried to observe others from a different perspective but it was hard to not let our own emotions cloud our judgement. It was and will always be a work in progress as far as he was concerned.

"Trust is another thing that needs to be earned. People will start to accept you more when you stay true to your word and follow through. No one is perfect but all we can do is try and take responsibility for our actions. Apologize when we make a mistake, things like that I suppose are ways to develop it." He finished hoping that something remotely made sense. It seemed like the right thing to say as he was speaking but ask him to repeat it and there was guaranteed to be slightly different. As long as the concept stayed relatively the same he would be happy.

The mirror to the soul was not one that she ever faced honestly; her face was always covered in taffeta, her glance sideways and from across the room. She supposed most horses viewed themselves this way, unwilling to see their imperfections, desirous of viewing only the side of their features that are struck into vibrant life by the tender kiss of the sun.

If she could look inside the mind of the stallion that sought to console her, she would find that her inquiries left him as lost as when asking herself. Fortunately for Ciceron, Illynx is far too obsessed with herself to notice any sort of struggle to supply her answers, the selfish ache in her chest that wants to know. It’s not as if she has any better resolutions – all that he has said, she tries to be, no matter that it is impossible for one who feels as little for others as she does to truly fit the mold that is needed.

Her pout is dismal as she keeps her eyes locked on the horizon, not bothering to look over at her acquaintance anymore. Her spirit is becoming so desperate in the wake of the conversation that she finds she will likely have to leave this man soon, for fear of exploding in a rash and psychotic show of her emotional turmoil, though she still finds him beautiful and soothing in his own right.

He is just not the solution to all her problems.

He takes note of deeds done, and she can quickly check off several in her favor. There are more listed to complete within her mind, this is to be sure, and while there had been no true test of her loyalty and strength such as an invasion or a disaster, she had upheld much face since returning to Helovia.

She glances down to her legs and the streaking, blotted scars that mark them, feels the lightness of her mangled ear. She has bled for her kingdom.

When it turns to having to consider others over herself, however, her fleeting pleasure with herself sours. It has never been a strength of hers, to imagine how others exist while she herself has her own opinions, and while his words make sense, it doesn’t mean she really cares to hear them or to practice what he is sharing. It makes her head hurt to even begin to place herself in Deimos’ hooves, and even more so to try and fit her heart into the shapes of all the others.

But Ciceron is not done. She listens with half a mind as the rest of her struggles to absorb that she must be less concerned for herself.

It’s just plain nonsense. Who is more important than the one running the show?

The mind is fully back on the floral stag as he makes mention of apology, wrenching her guts into a tight knot of loathing towards Deimos and Ulrik once again, the selfish bitterness towards Psyche for abandoning her to struggle alone. Apologize?

She’d rather eat her own horn than tell the Reaper a damn thing along those lines.

Either way, she wasn’t sure anyone in the Basin actually trusted another or not. She would place her own life on the hooves of very few, and from her encounters and moments shared with her herd, she had discovered that most were not the sort of hearts to love and trust even themselves, much less others. Surely, there were such kind souls as Lena and Huyana among them, but most were bitter and black as Illynx’s own.

Perhaps she was reading a Chevy manual while trying to fix her Ford.

A long silence fills the air while she breathes in and out, pondering the lessons and words that the kind knight has imparted upon her, struggling with many of the concepts but attempting to reason them into her mind none the less. After several minutes, she turns her eyes back to the strange friend she has found in the cold night, a golden leg reaching out to crush the snow beneath her hoof with a crisp crunch.

"I haven’t been truthful towards you," she begins, the knowledge she had just absorbed pressing her to explain herself and the endless ream of questions to her companion, her carefully crafted guise tossed over the stone edge into the sea, "I seek these answers for myself. By what you say, I should be less disguised in my approach." She looks at him for a moment, seriousness writ in her expression and her eyes still sad and weary. "I am the Lady Illynx, not just Illynx. The mountains, behind us, they are mine and my kin’s," her frown grows dire once more, gaze shooting back out to the tossing water to hide her imperfections despite her desires to be less of a cactus.

"I… I did not want you to know. I feared you would tell Apollo of turmoil, that it would be a stain upon the glory of my people, a temptation to dragons to avenge the blood spilt between us in past seasons and a reason to disdain our herd further," she glances down to her gold tipped limbs, stares them down as if they are going to do something magical at any moment. It’s all a sham to assist her in keeping tears trapped. "But the only stain is myself.”

Perhaps I should follow Psyche into nowhere.