Heading south and descending from the Frostbreath foothills, the snowy landscape fading into a gradual sprawl of green as it happens, Imonada leads her newfound friend toward home, an invigorated bounce in her step that has her trotting with an occasional bunny-hop thrown in, like some proud and loyal pup doing something important and doing it well. For a grounded bird, she is limber and gracefully fluid in operation, as petite and sylph-like as she is. Often, however, she reigns it in to match the stallion's pace side-by-side, quietly watching and studying him from the corner of her eye while she does so.

She suspects her budding acquaintance with Rikyn will eventually prove valuable, but he declined to join her (doing so a tad snootily, she noticed, but she had held her tongue, preferring to work with an individual instead of her social exceptions of them) and here, now, was Kipling in the flesh and thus her focus and precious energy was honed on him. She doesn't say much at all during the trip, finding small talk tedious and unhelpful, but she is not short on smiles and assurances that this won't take terribly long.

And it's true, it doesn't take long; she wants to get them back quickly, despite being a leisurely sort. So many things were happening, were going to happen, and she fretted a bit for his sake. Would it all be too much, too soon for him? Although he projected an air of fragility --intentional or otherwise-- about himself, she saw potential she could not yet give specific name to, even as it lay behind his current sensitivity. Someone else would need to foster it, though; after all, the things she tried to bring out in others weren't exactly good.

At the edge of the territory, she takes a moment to pause and look back through the forest canopy at the thing she was attempting to outpace; miles long, a massive argent shelf cloud mounts the western horizon, doggedly tailing them. Skittering webs of neon blue burst into life for an ephemeral dance inside the dark gloom so ripe with heavy rainfall, followed by muted grumbles rolling across the skies like tolls of their departure. "We should find some cover soon, eh?" The atmosphere is dense, hot, and soupy, summoning a sheen of sweat across her forehead and thighs. Those glossy feathers of hers, from the coverts to the plush pelt down her breast, puff out in want for a cool breeze. Instinct urges her to fly into higher elevation to cool off, but she feels her useless wing like a dead weight and the desire is prematurely snuffed out.

Fortunately, immediately ahead of them is the telltale signs of the Hidden Falls. The foliage, different here compared to the outer forest, is wildly verdant and jewel lush. The symphony of mighty roars from many waterfalls of the land's namesake, heard even this far from the main cluster of waterworks, manages to challenge that of the encroaching thunderous rumble from the heavens.

"Hopefully someone will come greet us, but we may need to bring ourselves about. Are you ready? We can take a break if you'd like. The trees should provide ample shelter!" Before he can answer, she darts across the boundary, slippery as an eel, ducking into the thicker vegetation that protects the lakes and ponds.