She had been meditating, hypnotized by the glassy swirl of water curling around her hooves, her mind blissfully blank save for a counting mantra. It made her oblivious to the passage of time, so when Ciceron arrives the sun is slung low along the horizon, throwing tall bleak shadows across the lazy river in which the ebony mare stands before him. She snaps out of it when he comes close, hailing her in the old way with merely a friendly sound. The same instinct has her responding in kind with gestures of peaceful submission, so subtle they seem unconscious, even vestigial, as she chirps lightly. 

But he says nothing and she does not either. Instead, the small pegasus merely studies him with a neutral expression, shiny black eyes haunting in their absolute darkness.

Knox was suppose to be here. Imonada had merely dressed the stage of the meeting, in desperate desire to help him; she knew of his loss, could empathize by comparing it to what she --to this day-- continued to deal with after losing her twin sister. In doing so she granted him a wide berth and no pauper's portion of tolerance. But he was still needed; she was their only intelligence agent outside him and the leads. She would push past her limits for them, but it was plain enough to see that Hidden Falls had vulnerabilities. That fear of losing her home, jarring and with so much the same bitter notes of abandonment, dampens her spirits -- she was best aligned under a watchful eye and firm hands. She was a tool, not to be left to her own ministrations. Despite the occasional bursts of grand ideas buoyed by her transient confidence, she was weak of mind on the whole; today she felt nude, amateur, and useless. 

Finally she speaks to the sleek, muscular stallion by her side, whose long dark mane hangs attractively down the powerful arc of his neck. "Ciceron," she blurts out, almost awkwardly, trying to grab his attention after the bout of silence. She remembers him from a few occasions, his silver dapple and chiseled features proudly crowned by an intimidating spike. Remaining mindful of his slinky tigress, she glances at the feline with a short nod; she never knew quite how to address companions... she was inclined to treat them as sentient equals, and yet they were tamed only through their bond. 

"Looks like the meeting isn't much of a meeting. Wanna go get high? I'll tell you stuff."