The sun sank towards the horizon, a slow and steady creep towards darkness. It washed the land—the land she couldn't help but think of as hers, smelling like salt and brine and warm sand—in an entrancing white light. Except perhaps entrancing didn't do it justice; it felt as if it were going to burn out her eyes at any moment, such was its brilliance. Silhouetted against the sun's rays was the stranger, haloed in smudged silver and gold, the details of its appearance made hazy by the Sun God's will. Nymeria's eyes narrowed, dark lashes sweeping violently together; she watched the stranger approach, wondering if he would be transient or become something more.  

Although inclined towards the former, some distant, oft-forgotten part of her longed for the second. It was a good sign, at least, that it was he (or she) approaching her; too often she was the first to initiate conversations, or attempt a meet-and-greet. The stranger's forwardness was welcome, and she did not fear his audacity in the way she once might have.

As he neared, the details of his body became startlingly and delightedly clear. It was not just the trickery of the sun giving him the resemblance of the Sun God incarnate (or at least, how she imagined the Sun God to look; she had never seen His Mightiness in the flesh), but his body itself. His coat was a marvellous gold, the likes of which she couldn't easily recall seeing before—a rich and glossy shade, shimmering in the sunlight. Dark barring crept down along his shoulders, a striking three-lined pattern that drew the eye towards his broad chest and well-defined neck. The stallion's mane, white as sea-foam and handsomely tousled, posed in sharp relief. Two horns rose from his skull, curving bone that she couldn't help but envy (they must pose quite an advantage in a battle.) And his stride— it was a divinely languorous stride, bespeaking authority and ease. No, he definitely wasn't hard on the eyes—but she wouldn't be swayed by looks. Besides, who knew how old he was? It was difficult to tell with the backlight.

She was interested in was the circlet upon his head.
Not many unicorns casually wore crowns.

Was it symbolic? Did he strive for kingdom? Or was he actually a ruler? And why a circlet? A circlet was not what most men would consider manly—she could give herself stitches imaging Volterra or Abraham in such a delicate piece of jewelry. It was, altogether, strange. This stallion, this unicorn, who walked with authority and felid grace—he was an enigma, even overlooking the strange deer trailing alongside him.

Stole it? Lil inquired thoughtfully.
Perhaps.

The stallion inclined his head towards her in an easy nod, the gesture indicating kindness. She couldn't help but think that it showed her the blunted tips of his horns—hardly genteel. For a hair of a second she considered taking on a guise, something to better keep her nature hidden; but she decided against it. It wasn't often that someone decided to strike up a conversation with her, and she couldn't help but think of the Ophelia situation... an ally, or a friend, might be in need. Both, if she could take them at the same time. Therefore when Thranduil greeted her, she returned it with a gracious dip of her head and a flippantly youthful smile.

Above, Lilómiel circled, arching his wings, before sailing downwards to land upon Nym's spine with a well-practiced deftness.

A damsel like you...
Lil puffed smoke from his nostrils, fanning his leathery wings in amusement. Nymeria turned her head, turning a reproachful eye upon him, before casting her gaze back to the stallion; in all honesty, she had to agree with her companion. You're not off to a good start, golden boy. Notions of helplessness, or inability? Not a way onto her good side. And she would say so: "I am afraid there's no damsel like myself," Nym corrected, "considering the usage of the word 'damsel' implies a sense of inability in face of danger."

A half-smile flashed across her lips, and she arched her neck slightly, head tilting in curiosity (unwittingly mimicking Confutatis' favourite moves.) "I am Nymeria," she offered in turn, not wishing to discourage him; "and I am only at the service of friends."