Typically, Nymeria considered herself robustly well-travelled. Her time as a wanderer, vagabond, outcast, loner—whatever one called it—had not been spent in complete idleness. In darkness and sunlight, she had charted the wilderness, every rise and fall of the land, every stream or river or swamp. She had even found the dead land in the south, a grimy landscape of black rot she had not dared venture into. Of the four herds, she knew the location of three, albeit not necessarily in name; the Throat, the Edge, and the Falls.

Except… never in her time had she found a place where it felt like night even in the height of day, or where the world glistened in a saturated red that was undeniably blood-like. It was the Halcyon Flats all over again—an unpredictable and inexplicable blip in Helovia, a glitch, an error, in the coding of Nym’s world.

And naturally, she needed to explore this mistake.

They delved into the unknown deftly and silently, taking advantage of the darkness and allowing it to conceal them. Despite how foreign the landscape was, Nymeria felt peculiarly at ease. The glistening red leaves, the artificial night, the distant thunder of waterfalls just out-of-sight… it fit her, in more ways than one. It was true that the Hidden Falls were supposed to be her home now—but this was… well, it was very much like the sea was to her. There was a hum in her bones and a melody to the wind that told her she belonged here as much as the Flats or the Blue or the Falls.

Her ears pricked at a muffled murmur of voices, indecipherable and at the very verge of inaudible. Curiosity piqued, she started towards the sound, Lilómiel drifting ahead of her.

It took a moment for Nymeria's eyes to make sense of the shape before her. Unicorn and cerndyr, shadowy beneath the blood-red canopy, had melted together into a dark monstrosity; her red eyes narrowed in skeptical thought. Flame bloomed from twixt Lilómiel’s lips, illuminating pale gold skin and an opalescent horn.

Unicorn, Nymeria thought blandly, and another one of those deer companions. The strangers reminded her of Thranduil, although Thranduil was refreshingly more masculine. Not that she had anything against girls—it was just… she assumed herself to know the ways of stallions more than mares.

“Hello,” Nym said quietly, her voice bare-boned and courteous. From out the shadows she stepped, cautiously taking note of the palomino’s pinned ears and clenched jaw. With her approach, the force of the waterfalls magnified, tugging at her blood and sinew.

Focus, Lil murmured.   

The unicorn lowered her head—Nymeria tensed, muscles flexing beneath her iron-and-ash coat—the tapering point of her horn glistening in the red lighting. There was something of a gleam to the other mare’s eyes, a wild and robust glint that Nymeria neither liked nor enjoyed. Too much unpredictability. And that was before the stag lifted his head, his antlers whistling through the air in a crowish display of weaponry, punctuated by a short and heavy snort.

She was ready to fight if necessary, but it would be a meaningless consolation. Victory would be easy enough to come by, with the waterfalls nearby playing havoc with her blood, and her magic pulsing in a latticework at the surface of her skin. There was so much more to be gained from a friend rather than an enemy. So instead of allowing her expression to be privy to the whims of her innate desires, she let lift a courting smile, her gleaming red eyes forthcoming rather than withdrawn. A lowered horn here, tossed antlers there—it wouldn’t make any difference to her games—it would only make her more careful.

Fortunately, her greeting seemed to ease the other pairing. There was certainly a flavor of arrogance to Raeden’s formal repose, and a bluntly boring logic to her words, but Nymeria thought (at least for now) she had been successful in navigating the tense waters.

The grullo shifted her weight back on her hindquarters, propping up a hoof casually. As Raeden looked away, Nymeria followed suit, letting her gaze [apparently] drift over the stark red leaves and flaming water. In reality, she observed the unicorn in modest calculation from her peripheral vision, marking out the untouched hide and cloud-like markings. It looks like her threat was empty, judging on appearance. Admittedly, Nymeria had little in way of battle scars herself; but she thought, with more than a touch of conceit, that she appeared more naturally fearsome.

It was not only her build, heavy and stark with a certain lissome grace from her warmblooded mother, but the way she carried herself: confidence can make all the difference. Even the greatest warlord was nothing if she did not have the confidence to carry her weight and lift up her head.

One of her ears twisted back to Raeden, but no further comment came. My turn, then. Lilómiel let out a caustic snort, smoke flaring up from his nostrils; there was a heavy skepticism to his mind, a returned dislike for Tin. From what she understood of his shuttered thoughts, he believed a deer had no place threatening a mare, especially a mare accompanied by a dragon.

“It is strange,” Nymeria admitted freely, “I’ve been in Helovia since birth, and explored every inch of it. In all my life I cannot remember finding this place before. It doesn’t seem natural, does it?"