She’s neither relieved or disappointed to fly. Weaver’s never really cared what method she’s traveled by. Flying is faster, so she flies to get from point A to point B when the journey doesn’t matter. But walking and running are great ways to stay in shape, so she never minds a good trek across Helovia if her company can’t (or doesn’t want) to fly. She’d like to think that when the girl chooses to fly it’s because she’s eager to see the Basin, though Weaver has absolutely no idea if this is true or not. She’ll stick to the assumption though, pleased with the idea of someone being eager to see and hopefully live in the Basin. They had a good, motley crew there, but they could definitely use a few more eager beavers’ running around.  

The girl doesn’t comment on the pegasi thing, and Weaver is sort of grateful. There was some stuff she could say that wouldn’t infringe on her confidentiality agreement with Rikyn. Not that that agreement extended beyond Erebos, really, but once secrets got out, they were hard to contain. Weaver wasn’t stupid, and she knew the stories were better kept to herself. Let Rikyn spread them, should he choose, or someone else. She wouldn’t be the source that sprung the leak that eventually might get back to their General. Though Weaver could hold her own in a fight, she didn’t doubt that Rikyn would weak some havoc on her in revenge.

Weaver’s taken for granted how used to the slush and ice she’d become, landing with an ease that only comes with practice. Fighting in this stuff was a different story, and it never did get easier to deal with that underfoot when she was also trying to beat the crap out of her fellow herd mates for practice. Eve does well enough, and Weaver lets her take in the sight, happy to answer questions or stay silent as the girl wants. Sometimes a bit of quiet time to enjoy it all is enough.

The silence doesn’t last as Rikyn comes to join them, her title on his lips. It’s rare she actually hears her title, given that it’s one of little consequence. “This is Eve,” she says to Rikyn, nodding at the girl with a slight smile. He introduces himself politely, and Weaver’s amber eyes sparkle mischeviously. “Waiting? What, is my company so terrible it counts as waiting?” Her tone is entirely playful, and it’s clear enough she doesn’t mean it. Weaver just can’t help herself sometimes. Actually, she can’t help herself almost always, not just sometimes.