The moonlight had little power beneath the treetops of Helovia’s Threshold; down here, darkness reigned. A crooked smile crept upon her face as Korra strode soundlessly through the undergrowth, keeping her head low and avoiding treacherous twigs, lying there and just waiting to give her away. The savage halted upon a small hill, veiled in darkness all around. She was no beauty, but in darkness, all cats are grey. Pale scars drew crooked streaks through her shaggy coat; of body she was sturdy and primal in structure. Her head was large, unrefined and scarred, but it held a pair of expressive auburn optics, bringing life to her rugged appearance. The most remarkable thing about her was without a doubt the impressive ivory antlers that shot up from her forehead; they set her apart and had earned many a baffled look since she had arrived here, but where she came from, everyone looked like her. Korra was of primitive blood, plain birth and plainer looks, but she had not a care in the world. It had been so long since any of that had mattered to her; it seemed like a whole different life.

She saw him enter, but she didn’t make a sound. From her position, she was able to overlook a large part of the Threshold, while still being concealed by the shadows. By sheer habit she had placed herself up against the breeze, not giving her presence away by scent. The stag wasn’t easy to spot, with his sooty coat, but she had been standing in the darkness for so long, she could even see the sweat on his nape and his empty socket where an eye had been scooped out. His smell was all too familiar; blood, death, fear. A slight chill went down her spine, remembering all too well. Most of her life had been war, terror, captivity, and she needed not to revisit those somber memories. At first she was not sure if she should approach, it was no secret that she enjoyed her own company most. When Mauja talked about how important it was to recruit new members for the herd, for The Plague, she figured she would leave that for the others to handle. And yet she found herself here, spying on whoever crossed the border; who knew, at some point her life may depend on the knowledge of these newcomers, which she acquired from her silent post in the darkness.

A familiar scent reached her nostrils. Turning her head a bit, she caught sight of the alabaster steed, moving ever closer to the stranger. Lobes perked forward, she attempted to catch their conversation; introductions, formalities. Korra hated that part most; smalltalk was so bloody pointless, but it was considered courteous to chatter on first encounter. Mauja was a smooth talker, charming, as you’d expect of a powerful leader; Korra was the opposite. She considered herself the strong, silent type. Oftentimes she had been mistaken for being slow, but in reality, Korra was probably the most calculating, cold-blooded mind you’d ever encounter. But where’s the fun in that, if everyone knew it? This savage wasn’t about to give herself away. As the stranger snapped at Mauja, Korra felt her muscles tense; if he as much as touched the iridescent steed, she would rip his ass to pieces. As the situation didn't seem to evolve, the savage shook her head lightly in restlessness, deciding this would be her cue to interfere.

Descending upon them in a calm stride, she managed to catch the strangers name and his question, but decided to leave it up to Mauja to answer. Approaching the pale stag from the side, she halted and nodded at him briefly. "My liege," she rasped in her hoarse voice, a somewhat friendly smirk graced her rough features as she glanced upon him. Her attention was driven back to the stranger, looking him in the eye as the smirk evaporated from her face. "I suppose a welcome is in order," she said curtly, not caring to introduce herself any further. Shifting her place a bit, she stood next to Mauja, facing Daltoff without taking her eyes off of him. There was no pardon in her candid gaze, only coldness.