Her day had been meant to be spent looking for someone with answers, but instead she had found only rolling hills and a handful of faces that lacked any promising features. She had thus only managed to explore the majority of the floating land mass during the daylight hours and was now returning back to the blue tent that had begun their day, dark tail sweeping low through the grass as the pink petals drifted overhead. The sun had begun its downward descent into the horizon, and she watches its progression with a rising interest as she takes note of the Moon slipping across its burning surface. An eclipse, she thinks to herself, increasing her pace to a trot as she crests the final vantage that ringed the clearing of the tents under the first touches of darkness.

She discovers why it is she has seen no others here; the dark tent marked with the Moon’s glass is alive with a flurry of activity despite the late hour, the sound of voices reaching high into the sky and the prancing of hooves audible over even the singing. Without a moment’s hesitation she directs her path there, figuring her son wouldn’t have been able to resist the lure of a party when she herself couldn’t and he had been here since it had begun; she arrives with her dished features held aloft and proud, her golden eyes flashing at the marvelous display of figures as the golden King (Kaj, was it?) broke into the silence with his lovely bass voice and another song of the Moon.

She spies the painted River Walker beneath the dark eaves of their tent, eyes continuing their sweeping search for her son – who is discovered lingering on the furthest outskirts of the blue tent, craning his neck with all the length he can muster towards the party. Even more humorous is Kyst, who playfully bounds from the colt’s shoulders to the ground and around the front of him in a circle, her own youthful heart enraptured by the sounds of song and delight rising from next door.

Giggling in good humor, she makes her way through the throng of Edge members, occasionally nodding to them if she was seen and hailed, towards an area where she is sure her son will see her, nodding towards him once his golden eyes find her to signal that he can come.

Like a black and gold bullet, he is loosed, the griffon (still too slight of wings to make to the skies) mewling with displeasure at the notion of being left behind and clearing a large jump onto his haunches just in time, her talons digging into the boy’s flesh and drawing a great leap and buck from him.

Kyst makes the displeased face of a disgruntled cat, but manages to cleave to her ride for the rest of the passage, the boy slowing to a halt just alongside his dam and leaning in to nuzzle his chin against her shoulder. The boy, Illynx fondly thinks, needs her, and it is a good feeling that rushes through her as they embrace, no matter that they had departed on sour words.

His tail twitches restlessly as his golden eyes pour over it all, the Lady glancing down to the young prince with a gentle smile on her lips. "Go on then, make some friends," she suggests, nudging him with her dark muzzle and smiling as he gently embraces her one last time before cantering out into the foray of faces, "but behave!"

He knows the intonations of that warning, greater than the normal ones sent out by worried mothers – she means more than to be good natured and respectful. She means to stay away from any more unsuitables; it was bad enough that he kept such close company with Aithniel.

Turning her face back to the adults now, she applies her most gleaming of smiles and sets off into the gathering of the Basin’s newfound “friends,” an ear still leant into the song of Kaj and her path directed towards the pretty, equine queen at the heart of it all. Perhaps she would join in with a song or two of her own before the night was at a close; she still remembers some of the Moon’s lyrics from her youth and years in the Edge, before the Dragonbitch had come and ruined it for them all.

For now, she approaches the only woman she knows in all this hubbub, hoping that the narrow witted damsel will know more of this land than she does of political schemes.

"Kahlua, my darling!" she calls as she is sure she’s within earshot, her voice sweet and genial on the night air, "what a splendid gathering we have here! And the King! Such a voice as to woo the Moon herself." She sways to a halt just outside the folds of the tent, knowing enough of respect to not breach the sanctity of the mysterious meeting places of the other herds unless invited, every ounce of her figure and face reading kindness and good will towards the woman who held the end of the largest thorn in Illynx’s side. "I hope I do not intrude; it was all simply to splendid to ignore. My son is here somewhere," she says, feigning interest in his location by sending her golden eyes roving across the surrounding region, "he nearly popped his eyes out staring at it with all that desperate desire to be a part of it." Her giggle rises sweet and delicate into the air as she makes small talk, waiting to ask her questions until her friendliness had been re-established with the wary (and rightly so) Queen of the Edge.


[ OOC: She's coming in as Kaj begins his song, so has missed the beginning stuffs. :3 ]

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.