Oizys lifts her tri-horned head with a sardonic snort. Sounds not very dead, she replies, squinting as though doing so will enable her to see the unfortunate prey being pursued through the forest. By the sounds of it, it's a pig of some sort, which means she has no interest in taking its blood. Why on God's green earth would she want to transform into some fat, sweaty, squealing lump of pork? No, Oizys's tastes are far more discerning - she prefers predators, the bigger the better. The golden jewel in her collection of sanguine samples is the great grizzly bear she'd drained that day in the forest, and she uses that particular vial very wisely. It's precious, as she can't say she's looking forward to collecting any more.

Ker's excited hopping intensifies to the point that her talons create pinpricks in the gargoyle's hard grey skin, and the young mare pins her ears with a hiss. Go and help, then. Stop that godforsaken squealing before I do. The noise, whilst initially enjoyable, is beginning to get grating, and with a screech of pleasure her raptor takes to the wing. It leaves Oizys free to wander through the Marsh, lost in thoughts of Kaos and her dead mother....is being here just tempting fate, inviting the bone monster to complete its dam-and-daughter combo? She should probably leave....and she's about to, when the smell of stallion hits her muzzle.

Oh, Oizys has been...curious for quite a while now. She's experienced one heat, during the Birdsong just gone - heavens, she wouldn't wish that intense fervour of lust upon her worst enemy. For a creature with such an iron self-control as Oizys, feeling her own body rebel against her had been most perturbing. She'd thankfully managed to secrete herself away without giving anything precious away, but she's rather dreading a recurrence of it. Even now, fully not-in-heat, there's a queer burning between her thighs that she can't quite comprehend, like an itch that demands scratching. Deeming somebody worthy of scratching it, however, is quite a different story. There's a familiarity about this particular stallion-odour, though, and curiosity gets the better of her as she traipses through the Marsh at a heavy-footed trot.

Ah, there he is. "Hmmmm." The word is an approving purr as the mare gazes upon the now-adult form of Kianzo. Goodness, age has been kind to him. He's bulked out quite magnificently, dwarfing even her, and the moisture he's flicked upon his skin only helps emphasise every delicious masculine line of him. Aware that she's unabashedly staring, Oizys clamps her mouth together and moves closer. "If it isn't my favourite bear hunting buddy. Haven't you grown?" Her cold grey eyes are somewhat hotter than usual as she dances them across his body, feeling her mouth growing dry and growing rather concerned by such a phenomenon. She doesn't fancy drinking Marsh water (Kaos piss, anybody?) so instead slaps her lips together and resumes her hopefully subtle appraisal of him.