The stallion is pleasant enough, though it’s clear the dragon is not friend material for raven. Though he’s too interested in the mare to care much about making friends with a dragon anyway. He doesn’t tend to make friends with dragons anyway. Dragons are predators, and Raven knows he is their prey. Amaris’ dragon had been an exception, friendly where he rarely finds such reception.

Weaver, for her part, keeps her attention on the two other equines, listening to the stallion and the mare as they speak. He asks her about how she got here, teasing slightly at how it can get intense. She laughs slightly, only nodding, though thinking this is hardly intense. But her definition of intense probably didn’t jive with everyone else’s version of intense, and she figures now is not one of those moments to demonstrate.

She’s not unaware of the girl’s almost meticulous stare, and Weaver would love to know just what the mare is thinking. But she can’t mind read, and truthfully, it’s not a power that she seeks. She doesn’t actually care that much what others think of her, but sometimes she is curious. She would love the thoughts that go on in Eve’s head, the realization that Weaver is more than just a pretty face but something powerful. Even if she is small, built rather unremarkably at best. “Thank you,” she says when the mare compliments her wings. She spreads them a bit, ruffling her feathers, before letting them settle back down.

Raven caws as the mare bends down to examine the feather, not understanding her words but taking cues through his bond with Weaver. His rustles his feathers, looking very pleased with himself, before taking off to land on Weaver’s back again, his job to impressing the pretty mare done for the moment. “The Basin is beautiful. I can’t say I’ve seen the Throat, but you should pretty much picture the opposite. It is a rather cool, often snowy, valley within the mountains. We have a large lake, more caves than you can ever explore, and some wonderful hot springs. The sky is what gives the herd it’s name though, and the colors are stunning. You have to see it, even if you don’t choose to live there, you could always stop by for a visit.”

She remains silent, ears pricked, at the mare talks about where she came from. Weaver lets a look of interest pass over her face, because it sounds like a hell of a place. Though the girl admits to wanting to stay mortal, something Weaver mostly understands. She can’t die. Well, sort of. She comes back, again and again, but one day, old age will take her, and she likes knowing there’s some way out. She cannot imagine a life where days are truly unlimited, cannot imagine simply become part of a place. “You’ve found a good place to start over. My old home wasn’t quite so intense, but our gods did tend to make decisions on a whim, taking everything from us. I can understand wanting to get out.”

Then the stallion goes on to scare the girl with tales of Kaos. It’s a fair warning. Newcomers should know, but still, the girl’s barely got the name of the place. It seems like a lot at once, but Weaver can’t blame him for offering the information. To the mare’s credit, she doesn’t seem overly worried, and Weaver finds herself more interested in this pretty mare. She’s not scared little girl, that’s for sure. “This one can. I don’t actually know if Helovia’s god’s can lie,” she says, looking to Astarot to see if he can fill in the information here. She doesn’t know much here, just a bit about the Rift Wars and how Kaos came to be. They defeated him once…sort of him, anyway. They could do it again.