The ease with which the woman dismisses the power of her bloodline over the logic of her mind draws a smile to the lips of the cold hearted Lady, the cruelty of the grin hidden behind her usual mask of effervescent good humor. It was good that the hybrid thought she could so easily rise above the hindrances her parents had shackled upon her, but that she had so quickly refused the golden wench’s offer to remove the appendages that marked her as blighted refuted her words even before she had spoken them. Were she so set on forging another path, separate from the flaws evident in the marks upon her spine, she would have been eager to more seamlessly blend in among those she sought to be like; she would be quick to remove the very things that made her wrong in the first place, and quick to end or modify any children born broken as she.

But, Illynx is used to such things when presented with the mutants of her kin, those adorned with horns and marked with the blasphemed idiocy of men who bred with birds. Pity is an ugly thing in her breast as she formulates a sardonic reply, her voice crisp and benign in the autumnal air. "And you are less foolish for clinging to the marks of your failures?" a genial laugh slips playfully from her, crown tilting to the right in quirky humor that seeks to prod the unfortunate beast where it surely hurts, "do not cling so fast to your anchor, darling – they sink quite fast." A last cruel twist mars the perfection of her mask, an ironic revelation of hideousness that she hides within herself as this one will should she decide to be smarter than the average pigeon and take Illynx’s advice.

As the rest of the conversation is replied to, however, respect is regained; it is a suitable response for one such as herself found among the proud unicorns of the north who would surely loathe her. It is hard for the Lady not to transfix such thoughts to the fore of her words, a difficult dance which requires battening away years of training her heart to hate that which was different than herself or her kin. She had found room for Aithniel in the softness of her mind and thoughts, that she had been young and malleable as wet clay – this one was grown, and if her previous words were any tell, no where near as easy to manipulate into the proper way of thought.

That she already thought herself wrong was a start, the Lady supposes. A pondering frown crosses her gleaming mask, mutilated ear flicking back into her thoughts as if she might hear them more clearly.

There was only one reason the woman was here, and there were two options to that inquiry.

"There is a man within the snow that could help you see the truth more clearly, the same that would free you of your wrongness, and solidify my decision on whether or not you should be allowed within my home," she says, slowly, her mind recollecting the face of the strange little beast that was most fondly known as her Haruspex, "Kyst, darling."

The griffon lifts her wings from her spine, arching herself in a graceful stretch and mewling her feline response with a clack of her dangerous beak. "Do go fetch our Haruspex for me?"

Nodding her head deftly and spreading her wing span, she alights from the spine of the Lady and flits off into the herd land, hopefully soon to return with the wizened little priest.

She watches her griffon go with sweetly glistening golden eyes, returning them to the hybrid after a moment with a smile still lingering on her lips. "I’m afraid I never received your name. I am the Lady Illynx, one of two leads of the mountain."

@[Zikar-Sin], @[Rhea]
[ OOC: Zikar is comingggg ~ lol. I say post order is free until Smithers can get him here; it may take the cute little crazy some time to get to the gate, after all. ;D ]