Fickle, inquisitive, and always chasing an interesting time, it is no surprise then that Imonada would fancy the company of a god. But she had yet to see her herd's patron, even though one of the first things ever spoken to her upon accepting the Hidden Falls standard was a firm request that she'd honor and respect him, even if she chose not to actively worship. He'd largely been an afterthought, some ancestral painting hung in the great hall, not yet to connected to her reality as an adjusting foreigner. That is, until today.

It was nothing short of a summoning that split her dreams into irrelevant fragments and buoyed her to the waking world, an irrefutable tugging on her wild heart that seemed to come from the very ground as it leeched into her bones. Obedient to the call, she trails after the source, pausing only once in the distance when she finally sees him with her very own eyes, she nothing more than a little black figure along the shoreline -- until she is on the move again to come closer, watching birds of all manner land upon his backside with a fierce jealousy over their command of the air, of their very own wings, a strange and childish feeling she often did not give credence for how utterly useless she found it to be. But it subsides when she places herself nearby the god and his followers, outrageously small and petite compared to the mountain lord, to the sideline, keeping herself within the divine radiance without barring the way for him or the peculiar rift dwellers. Emboldened by his paternal presence and the security is wrought -- albeit lacking the patience of her deity, as she practically hops on her feet with excitement -- she watches each newcomer, habitually memorizing their faces and their markings.

Enthralled as she may be, however, she is still in full possession of her facilities. Her sculpted head cants away to the side when she hears what could be, in the distance, a faint and exhausted cry for help. Ears primed in that direction, she scans the waters that separate the islands -- seeing nothing, she is ready to turn back toward the portal parade with its holy overseer when she finally spots a crumpled doll, dappled silver and ash. Imonada makes a strangled, urgent sound that as she breaks away from the standing procession, trotting down the beach, kicking up sand as she does so, toward poor Evaneska. She does not recognize her yet, but it does not matter. "You poor lamb!" Putting a tight cap on her panic, she wastes no time in leaning down to lay her ear across the mare's chest, listening for breathing -- hearing a rattled but steady intake and feeling the lungs inflating, she nudges her ribs gently. "You need to wake up now, lassie," she coos.