Guests in the winter were not many in the Basin, and guests in a winter like this?

Well, Illynx was quite surprised to hear a certain voice filtering over the high winds and out into the valley, the syllables shaped to her name, because it was not one of her own returning with a stranger, but a mare she had met some while ago and invited home with her for a time. A mare, some might say, was Illynx’s friend - but the Lady wouldn’t describe her as such herself, to be sure. She had very few she genuinely considered to be such things, and Agrona, while pleasant and properly outfitted, was only a single fish in the sea of faces Illynx had come to know, and she still lived elsewhere than with the golden one and her horned brethren.

No one who chose to live among Midas’ coven could truly be her friend, now could they?

Still, the call is unusual, a shaking word revealed after her own name that comes across as one who is freezing to death ushering the Lady forward at a faster pace, the warmth of the Springs left behind as she canters swiftly to the fore of the land and her pale haired accomplice at her gate.

She had asked her back, and so she was of course welcome – but that she had chosen now of all times, one of the worst Frostfall’s in Illynx’s memory of the Basin, to come knocking was bothersome. Surely she had more sense than to seek company in the cold, and if that was true – well, why was she here?

The Gilded Blade finds a humored smile on her lips at the pitiful state of the mare as she finds her, the cold having frozen snot and spit to her face which hangs at odd angles due to the blustering wind, her own dark hair flying about her wildly as a large gust announces her presence at the Sentinels and the stone doorway of their home. Her laughter is gentle and friendly, though it does aim some humor at the mare who is not so used to the cold – Illynx herself had long, thick velvet where her summer coat had once been, having left her armor back in her cavern again (the metal grew so cold it almost burned) for the past week and amply covering her frame in winter ware in the process.

Agrona is not so lucky – she is more sleek still, prepared for the lesser winters to the south, and once again, Illynx feels her pride swell in honor of the strength and conviction of her kin to survive and thrive in such a place.

Still, had Agrona come a week or two from now, she’d have found only the wind, a few wandering patrols; even Illynx won’t risk staying here much longer.

"Darling!" she calls sweetly, stepping forward with grace and a short and shallow nod of her crown as she smiles upon a face she wasn’t sure she’d see again (many promise to visit, you see, and never do), "though I am pleased to see you again, I must challenge your logic to advance on such a flurry! Look at your poor nose, oh…" She glances over her shoulder down the tree line, looking for somewhere where the wind will be less harsh and angling her bodice and limbs for such a destination when her golden eyes find it. "Come, come, let us get out of this terrible wind," she says cheerfully, picking up the pace to a trot (dual motives, you see – more blood running means a warmer Lady, and a warmer Lady means a better conversation!), "what brings you to me at such a time?"