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.