"Ah..."

The chill. The familiar chill. The beautiful, wonderful, amazing, pleasurable chill of the Steppe slowly seeps into her stationary figure, slithering like tiny frozen snakes up the hard gems of her hooves, upwards against elegant canons, caressing the length of the Brindled Devil's legs, thighs, and the firm curvature of her ebonite body like a familiar lover. The frigid kisses fondle Rhiannon's insides, eliciting a breath of content pleasure to escape from her nostrils, mist furling upwards like a dancing spectre.

Icy-silver and scorching-gold irises slowly slide open, and Rhiannon's gaze lifts upwards to the stars that lay across the blanket of the night sky. She had pondered many things while standing upon the frosted earth of the Steppe; life, love, triumphs, failures... Demons. Oh, yes. One could never forget those damnable things.

The brindled mare's teeth begin to gnash with impatience, with displeasure, with anger, as often were the results after pondering the darkness that had become her life. Since the Wraiths had attacked Helovia, robbing the world of darkness and Rhiannon of her sanity... Living underground, stricken by darkness and only shadows to call your friends, well... It had certainly done a number on her.

Still.

The soldier lowered her head, another breath furling upwards in a visible personification, willing herself to relax. It did no good for her to get riled up over things that she could no longer control, no matter how bothersome they were. Dual-toned oculars flick outwards to survey the surroundings of the Steppe, and for quite some time she ponders possibly returning to the protective, motherly embrace of the Basin before a splotch of darkness crosses her line of sight.

The Brindled Devil's eyes narrow cautiously, head raising, ears tipping back as teeth began to clench together. Hooves shifted and shuffled in the snow, kicking up thin powder of white, but Rhiannon's eyes stay locked on the stranger in the distance. Lithe, dark, dangerous is what the creature looked... And enticing. Oh.

"Oh my..." The whisper was soft, like how one may speak before devouring a decadent treat of chocolate, and Nonnie felt her jowls begin to salivate.

A familiar curl began to build within the soldier's loins and a gleam of delight flickered in Rhiannon's eyes, a wide, dangerous grin suddenly pulling at the young killer's dark lips. Uncertain if the stranger had seen or caught smell of her yet, Nonnie tossed her head and nickered in the stranger's direction, the action causing her crimped and furled mane to curl about her neck and bosom, bobbing about prettily.

"It does no good for a dark beauty like yourself to wander alone, stranger," Rhiannon beckoned, eyes alight with mirth and general mischief, "Perhaps you wouldn't mind some company?" Because Rhiannon knew that she sure as hell didn't mind. Especially with this golden-eyed beauty.