Imonada does not answer him, instead she chooses to hum a melancholy little tune, until they are both on the other side and standing within a large box canyon with ropey vines scaling the brickred walls, their massive white flowers like adornments in a maiden's braid. Several waterfalls and several ponds of varying sizes take up the area, as well as broken cliff faces scattered upon the ground like fallen titans. "Butterfly Weed, named for its ability to attract wait for it butterflies."

She was, of course, blissfully ignorant to their shared thoughts or any of Mato's less than friendly words, and for once in her life preferring not to know something; but even if she could sense the underlying pressure the dark canine held, she failed to react in any discernible way. Instead her voice lilts a bit as she looks back at the two, she herself standing upon a large and flat rock covered in minty green moss. A meter away in front of her another albeit lazier waterfall tumbles down over a pile of smooth stones, draining into an even-surfaced pond wider than it is deep. Schools of tiny silver and blue fish dart about with determination, along with their slick shadows. The bed is a coppery, rusty assortment beaten into silky gravel; in the dawnlight it is, like the fierce glow of dragon's breath, violent and glittering. Carefully she sets down her vibrant batch of flowers, primly between her two fore hooves. "'Tis quite alright, Daemyn. It isn't easy. The answer is 'E'!" His next question has her chewing at the inside of her mouth, lips twisted in thought. It's a bit of a bout of silence, but there is no judgment or harshness in her eyes as she considers him; just bright speculation. "I'm a Marauder. Ergo, Knox is my Sleuth. I do know a lot has changed for the herd recently, although I do not know the full extent of it. Kaj and Archibald are the leaders now..." She makes a show of eyeing the flower he picked up, her nose crinkling in quiet amusement. "Don't worry about the slime. It's gross, but harmless."

But then a flash of black, bronze, and white in a deadly lean and muscular form plucks her attention away in a swift second just as a familiar voice arrives with it. The ire-filled question why are you here stills her wooden; inside a cold dread descends upon her like icicles overheard. She can feel the very air she breathes in, a gentle pressure in the canal of her nose and a sweet fullness arriving within the chest like coming home. Thankfully it vanishes, this state, when Ktulu softens her expression and gently handles her name; she reads and hears the true intention fine, relaxing away from the icy, but soon concern creases her brow. She looks to Daemyn questioningly, trying to gauge his reaction. "Oh you should have told me, but I can see why you might hesitate to be forthcoming." She fervently glances between him and Ktulu, and with an inward groan she realizes she may have to step between one of the Furies and their target. Forgetting the guard over her flowers, she slides over to Daemyn in an attempt to intercept him on his way toward the pale-haired warrior, two hushed words for him. "Be honest." It's clear there is history here in the tension the Champion held; Imonada knows nothing of it, but the reaction to the stallion's presence is tangible and inarguable. She chooses to hang back a bit, releasing him to go to the Constrictor, to allow them to converse; close enough that a normal range of volume would be heard and far enough they could drop their voices to whispers, where she'd be none the wiser.