She returns from the Threshold, sour and bitter over her second loss to the white pegasus, though relieved that this return did not warrant a bath to rid her of a thick layer of black slime. The prettiness of the new season is lost to her bruised ego, the writhing outrage of her thoughts that such a stupid bitch had won out over her linguistic talents and gone home with such a fine male specimen as the one with the strange mane adornments. Surely, he had been raised incorrectly, but the golden wench was not so easily dissuaded from the task of corruption; in time, perhaps, she could woo him away, here to the mountains, and he would stay.

There would be time for that later, however, as she is aware that her rendezvous has set her behind in her chores in the mines, and with no prize to justify her absence from the tasks at hoof she was sore to admit that she had been off wandering in the forest aimlessly. To add to her rancorous disposition, the heavens had opened its relentless mouth to unleash a snow storm just outside the gateway into the mountain abode of the unicorns, perhaps the last glimmer of the perpetual winter that seizes the passes during the cold months. It leaves her with ears flat atop her crown and head low, snow piling atop her back and shoulders as she slowly prowls her way home, hoping against hope that some poor soul will fall out of the sky and allow her to vent some of her frustrations out.

As she enters through the threshold of the Basin, just that happens.

She stands still and in awe for a brief moment, watching the turkey preen its wings and assure that it will not die from its sudden plummet from above. Closing her mouth slowly, her lips inch upwards, sinister and amused that she is ever so fortunate and that her God loves her for all she has done for his people.

Spurring herself into a long limbed canter, she floats through the falling flakes of snow and across the thin layer of remaining frost and powder that layers the floor of her dancing hall, black hair streaming behind her in undulating ripples that mirror the dark pulses of her soul as she spies such easy prey. There are no laws that she can break, when this one has trespassed; even if she killed her, the herd she belonged to could claim no foul play. Still… she pauses near the mare, about a dozen feet or so, wondering if it would be wise to reenact the same scenes that had led to the downfall of her sister.

And then… she remembers Luneia. And her grin grows all the more visceral, her eyes gleaming brightly against the rippling sky that has captured the mouse’s attention.

”It is unwise to linger among wolves, small sparrow," she croons to her, neck arching gracefully as she gazes upon this prize from a tilted face, "no matter how striking their den."