There is the thud of hooves on the soil, and she wonders, thoughts running along similar path as his, who it will be. Morir, with his three crowns, Tyradon, with his dragon green, Veil, with his bleeding mouth? Or a stranger... no, not an unknown civilian. The faint recognition of her companion springs to the forefront of her mind, stealing with it images of snow and silver, polished ebony ovals and a horn of ice. An ear flicks in faint annoyance; she has no desire for company right now. She hopes, idly, that the Fallen will wander away with that lost look in his dark eyes; but for the sake of the story that will not be so, because the sound of his great hooves louden.

Contemplations of rudeness swill in her wicked skull, of turning him down, of leaving without word, of simply shutting all words between tongue and roof of mouth. Of attacking him, savaging him, letting her poison magic drip out over him and settle in his skin and rot him there; she wonders how he would look with his white pelt stripped. She liked them better without their cloaks. They had no secrets with every twisted vein exposed and every scarlet vessel cut open to the world; gruesome lips contort to vile grin at the thought. He would have pretty bones, silver and ash bones; she would engrave them and draw skulls on his skull, tattoo them with his own blood. Then her molars click and clamp, grinding together in remembrance.

I am trying to make a difference, she tells herself. It is not appropriate for me to attack as I will any longer.

Gaze reluctantly drifts upwards as she lifts her skull, cranium tilting to mirror his actions, eyes following the hypnotic swish of his tail. Fallen, she might have answered; but her charcoal lips remain sealed, sinuous skull moving ever higher, demanding, challenging, before it lowers. Vapor curls from her nostrils. "Fallen," she murmurs. "Fallen angel with cobwebs in his mane and snow on his feet," she continues, eying him, stepping away from him, suddenly struck by his size. Acidic mouth suddenly shakes into smile, and she takes two steps forward for the one he has pushed her back. "Names are power, Fallen, do you remember that? Other things are too. Power is power; lies are power; the truth is power. Which weapon would you wield?"