With her dark hued fawn in tow she arrives to the gathering just inside the vale late, perhaps too much so, one mangled ear raised alongside the whole to catch the words parting from the lips of the Lord of the icy manor following some faintly heard statement made by the painted stallion. Those same dark rimmed appendages fall backwards and into the folds of her dark hair in both dark wonder and annoyance with the abruptness of the Reaper, golden eyes slipping across the faces present to find only one stranger, clinging most to the side of Arah.

She wonders what sort of situation this is in which the Lord is turning away a new arrival, no matter how loud mouthed he is. She herself has not been known to be the most tactful of creatures, and here she walks with one of the two frigid crowns that mark the most honored members of their herd; she slips into the group with an amiable sort of snort to announce her presence, Rikyn’s slender frame sliding in alongside her and peering at the gathered fold with honest curiosity as to who these people are and why it is mother seems to be radiating so much negative energy towards the tall and seemingly powerful stallion who was talking when they arrived.

"He’s only just arrived, Deimos," her voice rings out, perhaps too sharply in her haste to diffuse the burning of any bridges, gaze settled on the milky gold frame of the stranger rather than any of her known comrades, only the slightest glances spared to each aside from the dual horned one, "all things of this land are foreign to him. Perhaps he saw an opportunity to fit in with certain individuals and like any clever boy took advantage of it…" Her words trail ever so slightly as she severs her stare from the white haired foreigner towards the painted one, vaguely remembered from clandestine mention between herself and Psyche and sighted often in the presence of known Plague members.

She could only assume whose energy the man had been attempting to emulate, if her words held any truth to them and if her assumptions about the putrid state of the pinto’s heart were correct.

”Our home would be an empty one indeed if we turned away every novice to our culture we encountered. Don’t be such arrogant fools as to think you’ve impressed everyone you’ve met in all your life, especially in first meetings; expect nothing you can’t do yourself from anyone else or spend the rest of your days longing for something you can never have, I don’t give a damn which." Shuttering her eyes in defiance of the others present, she flips her nose in an extravagant way, dark locks splayed through the air before resettling across the bridge of her delicate features, golden eyes reopening to find the white mare before her. "Arah is no fool, and I trust in her judgment -" her gaze slowly slips over towards the painted one, lips sneering in a mocking and humorous way as she looks upon him, "while I don’t even know your name."

Looking to the white woman once more, she replaces her unkind smirk with one of genuine interest and concern for the answer she was seeking. "I assume you’ve found him worthy, or he wouldn't be standing here?"

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.