The appearance of others hardly surprised her - she had been quietly enjoying feeling, living through the soul that she had summoned, riding on the high that was its vitality, its sheer joy for existing. It found the youths, and it beckoned to them gladly with song and colourful displays of acrobatics, and excitedly led them back to her - to its summoner, its temporary lifeline. Amaris didn't mind, truly, but as always when meeting new creatures, she prepared herself - for friendly or unfriendly reception, both were just as likely as the other, she had learned over the years.

She was not prepared, however, for the appearance of a memory in front of her. The colt's question fell upon near-deaf ears, as Amaris looked at him with masked surprised, and saw the memory of another colt, with such similar markings, temperament, build - who even asked the same question of her, all those moons ago. The memory was one Amaris treasured, truly, though right now it caused her some ache, deep within, her heart clenched, her insides squirmed - she wasn't sure why she felt what she did, or even what it was she was feeling…

But this colt was certainly Volterra's.

Or perhaps it was his sister's - how could Amaris know for sure without asking directly? And to ask directly would be impolite, juvenile, so she held her tongue and recovered quickly, to raise a brow at the first colt's words, before hearing the second's, golden-and-crimson-speckled one's words. Amaris considered them both before deigning to reply, letting the silence stew, letting their questions brew, so that she might compose herself of her little shock and give an answer that would, not-so-much please the gathered, but at least keep the conversation rolling.

"He was once a dragon of this world, though his life-force since expired, my magic allows him to visit once more." She began with the easy question, her magic a favourite topic of hers, for it, much like herself, was quite unique.

"I too am a dragon, and an equine." She said it simply, as if it should be information that was written as clearly as the golden scales that coated her champagne pelt - there was no need for theatrics this day, no need for colourful words or explanations - not when she was still admittedly a bit shellshocked at the idea of Volterra being a father, when surely he had only just been a young colt not long ago, (- but then, she recalled the last time she was with him, the way she had leaned into his strong nape and muscular, masculine body, and felt something which she sharply denied, just as she denied these current feelings any purchase, and she was distracted by the thoughts and the memories, but she had to stay in the now so she pressed on -), such was the ebb and flow of time, however.

"What of you?" she turned their questions back to each of them, seeking to hold their gazes with her own, (noting the pinkish hue of the skull-faced child with further disquiet), turning the tables, (and perhaps, just maybe, genuinely hoping to learn more of them as well).

Daniel Schiersner @ flickr & larfsalot @ deviantart