The first of the snows had fallen, but only just lightly so, a pale dusting that caught in the light breezes that managed to cut through the stone lining that stood tall above them and drifting casually about her golden ankles as the Lady took long, assured strides up the familiar winding path. They had crossed through the hidden segment at the foot of the peak some while ago and she could see the first glimpses of her and Ulrik’s proud sentinel and his partially completed brother in the distance over the jagged mouth of the entrance to the Basin, and she glances at her newest find with a smile lighting her features, a warning that the temporary silence that had lapsed over her now that there were no landmarks to point out or herds to name along the way was to be broken.

"It’s just ahead," she says, the pride for what is to come evident in the bright gleam of her golden gaze and the way her steps take on an added grace and enthusiasm, "do not fear the bronze guardians. They are quite safe so long as there are no threats against us." The thought of the young wolves who had come for their foals makes her smile in sadistic memory of the machine dancing among the warriors and the oblique Lord; though it hadn’t stuck any blows upon the assaulting beasts, it had been a ferocious sight, one she had missed in her worry for the children – her own, most of all.

As if her thoughts have summoned him, his dark frame appears in the gap of the stone when they are a few feet from it, having come from somewhere around the lake if the way he smells is of any guess. She smiles fondly at her son as he smiles coolly in greeting to his dam, watching for the notice and reaction to the tigress behind her on his young face.

It does not take long. His golden eyes broaden in near hysterical excitement that he binds behind resolve, managing, despite his youthful exuberance, to not dart forward, pace endlessly, or spew questions. But his flesh trembles with restrained interest in the creature that approaches (for it is a predator, but one that does not seem to be looking at his mother like food – more as if she has come to stay here) and his mind works away in boundless directions at the possible reasons as to why he is seeing what he is seeing.

Her lessons have seeped deep into him; he disguises his curiosity as best as he can behind cordial introductions and gentlemanly behavior. "Welcome home, momma, and welcome to you, miss," his little head bobs in greeting, the small stub of his gold toned horn catching the light in the same stunning way her own does, "I’m Rikyn, son of the Engineer. What’s your name?"

His smile is friendlier towards the cat than his dam, and she hopes within herself that the feline does not notice the mild agitation her son is experiencing towards her at this moment. Ever since the herd had taken notice of his sister, he had grown steadily more cold to her over time, no matter how slight the changes may have been.

Perhaps it was time to lend him to his father; Ulrik always had such a precise and dignified way of explaining everything away. Surely he could get it through the boy’s head that his mother was only trying to help him, and was not the wicked witch he thought her to be. "Come, Rikyn, let us walk while we talk," she sweetly says as she walks past him and into the threshold of the mountain valley, stepping aside as she always does for the tiger to enter and get a full view of the place she has been led to, her son slipping quietly to her right to oblige his dam's need for order.

That her son is interested in the cat rather than afraid does not surprise her; its not that the child is too stupid to know she’s dangerous with her paws and fangs, its that he trusts his mother and the herd enough to believe that even if the tiger decided to eat him, even if she succeeded – it would be something she regretted for a long, painful while before she died. The Lady was good to her people – mostly her kin but for two now, soon three when Zima arrived if the cat did not lie – but only so long as they were good to her and followed the rules laid out for them. They were few, really, and she thought “don’t eat the room mates” was a fairly reasonable arrangement, she herself feeling little hesitation at the arrival of the boy and his eagerness to learn more of the great feline that had arrived with his dam smelling of the wilderness and the tall, regal trees of the Threshold.

The woman’s golden eyes watch with great interest as the tigress observes the sentinel and his partially finished partner in war, overly proud of the Engineer’s creations and endlessly impressed with their splendor, assuming that any with brains should be as well; its what she searches for as she watches, that single glimpse to swell her ego and her heart all at once, the same intoxicating combination that drives most of her actions on a daily basis.

She thinks she sees it there, but can’t be sure; the face of the tiger differs greatly from that of a horse and the use of whiskers is foreign to her, leaving her with many questions as to what a twitch of the strange hairs might mean or what any motion from them at all might be. She files away mentally to find someone with an old enough cat creature for a companion to ask these questions of and discover answers, deciding its better to be prepared as she might be to glean secrets the beast didn’t want her to have.

The cat gives her son her name as she takes her time to look around her, the colt having been on pins and needles thinking he’d been forgotten and nearly exploding with excitement when she answered. Not knowing what the tiger was, Illynx already knew what he would ask next, her velvet voice clipping in as his lips dropped open to let his own free. "She’s a tiger, darling," sweetly explains the golden wench to her child, his mouth clipping shut and a slight frown wrinkling his features at his question having been stolen from his mouth. Turning her eyes to the feline before he can interject anymore blabber into the air, she slips her own more prudent (at least to her) comments to Saffron, her steps flowing back into pace as the beast indicates that she wants to go further in.

Interesting, thinks the woman; unicorns tended to remain at the border for a few moments at least, hesitant almost to go further in unless they had lived there before. Not tigers, apparently – they wanted to know what there was as soon as it could be learned of.

"Along the eastern border of the lake is the Haruspex Cave. Its usually inhabited by a man who bears the same title as the cavern and the mirror he keeps, but occasionally," she pauses, a smile quirking her lips as she gives a verbal tour of the land as they pass through it, "the God of Spark may be found, as well. He is the patron of the mountain, and though he does not demand your worship, I assure you the rewards are boundless." Directing her eyes to the large knoll rising ahead of them, she continues explaining land marks. "Meetings will often be called along the lakeside or on this hillock, if you are interested in attending our political affairs," quiet until she reaches the top of the hill, she gestures for the tiger to stop – all of the realm can be viewed from this one spot, aside from the mountainside hidden by the old growth pine forest that fringed the plentiful valley of their home, "the steam that rises in the distance is a hot spring, delightful for bathing in or warming up alongside during the chillier times of the year." As if to accentuate her point, her glossy and almost tangle free tail whispers against her sides, gleaming in the autumnal sunlight.

Rikyn is pouting alongside his dam, feeling ousted and forgotten again. His frown permeates his face still even as his eyes light up in realization his mother hadn’t explained everything. "Oh! And we have caves to live in along the mountainside. You can usually tell by smelling ‘em if anyone is living there or not, but I’d hang out a while to make sure," he leans his head in towards the cat, lowering his voice so that his mother won't be able to hear him as clearly and hopefully not at all, "some of us around here aren't very nice."

[ OOC: FOREVER LONG but tourssss yay ]

She doesn’t miss the quip that escapes her son’s mouth, is rather quite distracted with the golden visage of a man she had recently… salvaged from the less kind words of her kin when he had first come to the Basin. He had kept to his word, so far, and had yet to leave on the task she had sent him on – but that was quite fine by her. The longer he took to plan out his little games and falsehoods, the more secure it was likely to be, and while she did not care for those she sent him to tail, she also was not in the mood for a war. Her thoughts flicker to the colt alongside her as her mouth curves into a smile of greeting from the grimace she had made at Rikyn’s poor choice of vernacular, a gentle nod tilting her features in welcome of the strange spy’s arrival.

Her brow creases as the man dares to instruct her son, acid mangled ear slipping back while the other remains trained in the direction of Thranduil. The cat is smiling, so at least she takes nothing too deeply to heart that the boy has said, and she supposes that it was a fair warning. Many of those on the mountain, herself included, would likely pulverize whatever idiot had intruded on the sanctity of their sleeping places, and while a grimace streaks through the golden shade of her eyes (leaving her smile in place, of course) at the memory of being called an interior designer by a certain well thought of son of a bitch, she does not believe her irritation at such an act would stem from her need for prettiness and order.

It was simply a matter of tact and respect; one did not trounce on her tail and expect to get away with it. Principles, of course, things that became evident of her nature the moment one took the time to see through her smiles and cheerful words.

Even as she wonders what there is to be done about another man instructing a boy that is not his, she relinquishes the thought of yelling at the dual horned stag. He has, as far as Illynx can tell, taken a liking to her, and it would an obvious act of his favoritism to take to sharing his knowledge with her son when he had none of his own (as far as she knew, anyway). Rikyn, either way, bore a stricken expression and his golden eyes flickered from Thranduil to him dam slowly, a smile creasing his face as the joke tailing the direction is brought into the air (though he does not nod, knowing better from the look on Illynx’s face to the fact that this is just a new guy that he doesn’t have to and assuming his dam would be displeased if he did). The Lady smirks, remembering how some balked when first coming to the snowy place, Thranduil included – he had run away to warmer climes while the spring had thawed into Tallsun.

She tries to level her gaze with that of her newest sleuth, her expression one that pointedly read to be cautious how often he overstepped his bounds in parenting her children. Rikyn had a father already, and while Thranduil knew things that Ulrik did not, his place would be that of an instructor, a distant mentor as Zikar-Sin and the others of the Plague were, not the ever present and firm guidance of a sire.

Her chilly demeanor probably makes itself known to all others present around her as she seeks to silently amend the problem before it can begin, easing off of her to pool out and away until she once again resonated with her usual false warmth, golden eyes turning from the meet and greet of the conversations to the arrival of a dark mare known as Sialia. She had met her a few times already, and found that she rather enjoyed her; quiet, the sort to listen and catch what she could, but not incompetent enough to be luck luster in the conversation. Having taken the path of a soldier had only increased her standing with the golden wench, who had walked the same stones to her crown.

That the mare was pregnant, however, gave her pause. Her thoughts cascade around her as her placid, gentle smile remains poised on her dark lips, but she wonders why it is all her new women are returning with foals in their bellies, why so many have been brought here this season. Surely it is no coincidence; a glance is shot swiftly to her son and back to the mare, memories pulling others to her thoughts to stand alongside her. It was not that the children did not benefit the species – assuming that this one inside Sialia was not the bastard offspring of some freak – but it also left the herd vulnerable. She takes a deep breath as she thinks of the wolves, surely lured by the heavy population of weak and vulnerable foals that had bloomed in such vast numbers this year.

It also worries her that she is pregnant as the leaves turn red and weak; Frostfall is a ruthless bitch in the Basin, she thinks to herself, and it is to be her first if she remembers the timeframes in which she had come correctly. Silently, she marks a note to tell Lena of the mare’s condition and to watch her and the child carefully to assure all goes well.

Assuming, again, that the foal was desirable; her brow does arch this time, breaking her smooth friendly mask into one that openly shows her curiosity at the situation that has just meandered over on four hooves. She is not openly claimed as Esther and Hotaru (both by the same man, and she thinks to herself that she is glad she did not slip into the easy comfort of that conversation in the arch so long ago, that she waited to find Ulrik and bring to the world her golden son), for Illynx has seen her with no men aside from the other patrols in the land – none of whom showed any flicker of knowing one another on such a deep level as they had walked.

"Sialia…" she drawls, her sugary lips poised in the softest of dangerous smiles, her son looking up at the tone and knowing it to be the sound of a woman either about to smack someone or give them a tasty berry or two, "you look well." Glancing over at Thranduil with a slight playfulness to the color of her eyes for his sake, she pulls on the use of his name (likely gleaned while approaching, but it does not matter) to subtly ask what she wants to know without so bluntly inquiring as to the status of her womb at the time - her son was present, after all. "You know Thranduil?" the words have the hint of flirtation they will need to get her point across, her smile growing the wicked gleam of a schoolgirl having naughty talk with a gal pal.

Let them think she’s stupid.

She knows she isn’t.

Her laughter rings out heartily as she eyes the bored look on the cat’s face and catches the return jest towards Thranduil. She’s spent a fair amount of time in Sialia’s company since her arrival with the General, but Thranduil has done much more than the dark mare on imprinting himself in the golden Lady’s thoughts. Whether that was good or bad news for the stag was yet to be determined, but she felt enough chivalry between herself and the leaf marked stallion to find great fun in poking fun at him; it was common with those she found to be friends, as flimsy as a title that was when used by the callous golden wench.

"Been hitting the cups, dear?" she chuckles, her eyes crinkled in amusement as her laughter subsides enough to allow words to flow past her lips. She catches the smile from the soldier that says she will learn more later, but gives little mind to it; the blue marked unicorn will come to her when she was ready, and not sooner. She only hopes for her sake that the father was pure, and that the child born of him would not wear ugly marks of ill breeding; she had failed her goals enough already by letting the hybrid child stay here, and would be horrified to have to deal with Sialia as had been done with Delinne and the hideous daughter born of her stupid union with that pegasus stallion.

The poor, poor man who had done it to her – he would have all the horror as his own when Illynx found him and drug him to the hooves of the Reaper for touching what was off limits if the child was born wearing the marks of her parent’s sins.

Perhaps she would have Aithniel assist in it all, watch their dual anguish from afar and sip on it like it was a fine beverage like the one that Thranduil had jokingly drank too much of.

Her smile never falters despite her dark thoughts; it has been droll and peaceful on her mountain lately. A small piece of her wishes for the distraction of tearing two idiots apart while their blasphemed child watches, if only to revel in the scent of their blood and the shrillness of their screams.

The mare shortly after takes her leave, and Illynx gives her a nod of farewell as she watches her go. Turning towards Saffron, the Lady prepares to excuse herself, as well. "I dare say we’ll leave you to find a bed, Saffron," she explains, stepping towards her son and nudging him slightly with her shoulder to hint that he had to leave – even if he didn’t want to go to bed yet, he couldn’t stand here and bother the tiger all evening long with so little sun left in the sky, "do make yourself at home and seek me if you find you have questions."

She pauses, a little giggle breaking her lips as she glances back over her shoulder. "Oh, I almost forgot," she says, golden eyes brightening with a temporary worry that it had not been included in her earlier haggling, "we hold a treaty of peace between ourselves and a herd known as World’s Edge. I cannot forcibly keep you from taking them as your own, to be sure, but I cannot give you political asylum if you break our arrangement to satisfy your needs. I hope you understand."