Imonada calmly watches Kipling's face, trying to read his emotions, concern still reflecting on her own dark cast. When that much welcomed relief melts away his tension, the minute amount cultivating within herself loosens its talon grip. Whether or not she was aware of it, she mirrored others, so susceptible to their moods and language; his sudden disinterest in the drawings is easily absorbed by her. Perhaps she was doing it in an attempt to engage him on his terms, genial as she appeared to be. "I suppose you're reit. Art is subjective, or sae I hear." Almond-shaped eyes of inky shade are pulled back to Rikyn's drawing before they sweep across the trio's combined creation with an owlish tilt of her model crown. "At any rate, I feel as if I can confidently say we all hae an innate skill wi' workin' the snow as our muse demands it." Here she begins looking at the younger of the stallions again, intrigued by his intricate gold branding and proud bearing. She sensed a yearning in him, but not unlike anyone his age. Muscle shifting smoothly beneath his black coat when he moves, the babyfat all but gone, already filling him out as any healthy stud ought to be. Given a bit more age and he would be magnificent. That tail looked utterly fun, and useful, to have, too; even if hers was a stream of silk onyx and gleaming feathers, it did not have the same practicality of a more mobile appendage.

Kipling is not spared another good look-over and his turn comes swiftly after. Youthful he was, although she felt a bit deceived by it for some reason she couldn't put a finger on, and though awkward possessing just as hale a form as the other stag's, even if his mind was bewildered. The way the sun brought a tint of red to his chestnut, the freckled white splashed across it like a dusting of snow. Both of the gentlemen had impressive horns, as well; impervious and fae.

They all had something plaguing them, didn't they? He did not seem mentally unsound, just confused. She had known that feeling far too intimately to not desire even the most small of connection with him. But asking where she was from? She struggles with the urge to falsify or deflect the question, not always keen to lay bare any disclosure; but knowing that in order to gain Kipling's and, maybe, Rikyn's trust, she was better off being honest. Without necessarily mentioning too much. "Hidden Falls is mah home now. You're welcome tae come back wi' me if ye need a place tae rest." She nickers lightly at Rikyn, a sweet chime like that of a sparrow. "The invitation extends tae ye also, sair."